Puppeteer
by waterbaby134
Summary: Which is worse? Taking someone's life, or taking their reason for living? Jane's about to find out when Red John resurfaces again, with a proposition.
1. The Letter

**It's been a while between drinks, but I've finally gotten started on a new story. Have a read and see what you think.**

**Rating: T for safety. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist, or any characters, organizations etc associated with it. Any other references you recognise are not mine either.**

**Pairing: Not supposed to be a romantic fic, but knowing me it'll turn into one anyway. Jisbon of course.**

* * *

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the piece of paper taped to the door of Patrick Jane's rarely used Malibu beach house. Standard office size and thickness, the typing on it was a widespread, generic font found in reports and word-processed documents the world over. Nothing about it gave the impression of it having anything special to offer.

But when Jane saw it he experienced a similar shudder of fear to one he had felt years ago. For nobody but he could truly appreciate the potential horrors that lay in store on the seemingly innocuous paper.

That it had been left for him here, in Malibu, was telling enough. He visited this house only sporadically and very few people knew he still kept it. He had all his mail redirected to his tiny studio apartment in Sacramento, which he hardly ever stayed in either, instead choosing to while away his sleepless nights at the CBI.

He could think of only one person who might leave a message for him in this fashion, the one criminal he and the team were still chasing, the most important case that had yet to be solved.

Red John.

He approached the door with trepidation.

_Mr Jane._

_It has been some time since we have spoken. An oversight on both of our parts I'm sure, as we are both very busy._

_I trust that after the unfortunate circumstances that befell Agent Samuel Bosco and his team, that my case file has found it's way back to you. I very much look forward to the day we meet in person, which brings me to the reason for this correspondence. _

_My sources inform me that you are very rarely out of the company of one Agent Teresa Lisbon. I have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance but from what I have been told, she may pose a slight problem if she is present when you and I eventually meet. _

_To this end, I have come up with two solutions, the first being me taking her life. I very much do not want to have to do this as I feel it would be tragic to take another person of importance from you. _

_From the brief glimpses I have had, I find that your Agent Lisbon is very beautiful. You always did have a soft spot for brunettes, yes? It would be a cruel fate indeed for one so lovely, a truly barbarous act, why is why I may be persuaded to take a different course._

_See to it that Agent Lisbon is thrown out of the CBI, discredited and disgraced, with no chance of return. If you are successful, I shall spare her life. You have a month to achieve this, beginning from today, May 3__rd._

_Until we speak again, old friend._

* * *

Jane's heart was pounding as he finished reading the note. So Lisbon now had a target on her back. He supposed he should have expected this to happen sooner or later; Lisbon was the lead agent on the case, it made sense that Red John would want her out of the way.

What threw him the most was that he had been given an opportunity to save her, but at what cost? He knew how important her work was to her, knew that the halls of the CBI were only place she could feel comfortable and in control.

In essence, to save her life he would have to rip away her reason for living. It was not undoable. Hightower had made it clear that Lisbon was squarely in the line of fire, her career dependant on his behaviour.

After all, it was better her alive and hating his guts rather then murdered by Red John. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, let alone the woman who been his greatest (and sometimes only) ally in the CBI. The one who had refused to give up on him, no matter how far he had pushed her, the one who against her better judgement, was always willing to give him one more chance, the one who epitomized something that he had lost long ago: Faith.

And Red John had given him the power to keep her safe. In theory, it should have been a no-brainer. A simple trade-off, her job for her life.

But this was Lisbon. Her job _was_ her life. The two were so closely intertwined that to end one was to practically end the other as well. It would strip her of everything she stood for, everything she fought so hard to protect. It would take away a piece of her soul, and she'd never get it back.

No. He couldn't do that to her.

But he couldn't allow her to fall victim to Red John either. He had to find some other way.

Even as he thought it, he wanted to laugh out loud at his own foolishness. With Red John, there were no alternatives.

He crumpled up the sheet of paper in frustration. Once again, Red John had identified a chink in Jane's carefully constructed armour, and it was only a matter of time before he pounced on it. Jane himself hadn't been entirely sure how he felt about her, but Red John had known, just as he had known exactly how to use that knowledge against him.

He had barely survived the loss of his wife and daughter. He dreaded to think about what would happen if Lisbon were taken from him too. At present, she was the only thing anchoring him to any kind of reality, the person that reminded him that he was in fact capable of feeling other emotions aside from vengeful anger. She had reawakened something inside of him that he had believed to be long since dead, made him laugh, and essentially given him a second chance at life.

Sure, she thought he was wasting it with his revenge plan, but without her, he doubted that he would've even considered the possible consequences of his actions, and just how much he stood to lose if he proceeded with his plan.

She had given him so much, more than she could ever possibly know.

He let himself into the house, trudged up the stairs, and collapsed on the mattress underneath the sinister smiley face. Some nights he would lie there for hours and study every curve, every stroke and the exact hue of each bloodstain, but tonight he couldn't bring himself to look at it. He was too busy thinking.

Either way he looked at it, he would have to sacrifice her from his life. If he allowed Red John to carry out his plan, he would lose her. If he didn't, and he got her fired, she'd never want anything to do with him again. He'd lose her anyway.

It was the very cruellest of choices.

* * *

Over in Sacramento, the object of Jane's thoughts was just arriving home from a long day at the office. She took a long hot shower, letting the water soothe her aching muscles.

Today had been another tough day. She had once again been forced to crash-tackle a suspect as he tried to escape them, and now she was paying the price. Everything hurt, and to top it all off, her head was throbbing like someone had smashed it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

She changed into sweats and microwaved a frozen meal that she found half-hidden at the back of the freezer, covered in ice crystals. When it was cooked, it looked so unappetizing that she could only manage to choke down two forkfuls of the stuff before throwing it away. She considered ordering something in but decided against it. She could eat when she got to the office tomorrow. Jane always brought in doughnuts on Wednesdays and made sure to save her the cream-filled ones that she liked the best.

In the end, she found herself on the couch watching the ten o clock news. She sat up slightly when a piece came on about a case they had worked a few months back, which had been tried in court yesterday. The camera panned around the courtroom and she saw Cho, who had actually arrested the man in question. Next to him, Jane lounged in his seat; hands behind his head and gazing dreamily up at the ceiling.

She chuckled to herself as she took in the astonished expression of the woman across the aisle as Jane stood up and began firing questions at the judge. Almost instantaneously, a hand she recognized to be Cho's reached up, grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back down into his seat.

Luckily, Jane's idiocy had not cost them the case and the bastard had been convicted on all charges.

Lisbon switched off the television just as they turned to finance news and walked into her bedroom. She got into bed and reached for the novel she was reading.

Her cell phone rang, shattering the peaceful silence and she grabbed for it, managing to answer it on the second ring.

"Lisbon."

"Hi Lisbon, it's me."

"Jane? Why are you calling me so late? I know you're not a big fan of sleep but I wouldn't mind getting some."

"Can't a friend call and wish another friend goodnight without being accused of having some ulterior motive?"

"Not when it's you."

"I just thought you might be a little lonely in that apartment all alone with nothing but the television and that dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice to distract you."

"How did you know I was reading Pride and Prejudice?" she demanded. "Are you casing out my house or something?"

He laughed. "Don't be silly my dear. I just know it's your kind of book."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You like to think of yourself as the intelligent and vivacious Elizabeth Bennet, eventually winning the heart of the aloof but ultimately charming Mr Darcy, aka me."

"Wrong. I always saw you more as Mr Collins, irritating and constantly sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong," she shot back, frostily. This was a downright lie. This was the first time she had read the book since she had begun working with Jane and to her horror, she had indeed subconsciously cast herself and her consultant as the legendary lovers, but he didn't need to know about that.

For heaven's sake, she couldn't get rid of him in her real world so she couldn't understand why she would possibly want him in her fantasy world too.

"Then who may I ask _is_ your Mr Darcy?" asked Jane curiously.

"Jane, I am rapidly losing my patience with you. If you don't say something useful in the next five seconds, I am hanging up this phone. Five…"

"Well-"

"Four."

"Lisbon-"

"Three."

"Don't you think you're being-"

"Two."

"-A little bit-"

"One."

"Harsh?"

She snapped the phone shut, resisting the temptation to hurl it across the room. Really, the man could not be any more annoying if he tried. She snatched the book up, hoping to distract herself.

Of course, when she opened it to the marked page her eyes were immediately drawn to the phrase, "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." That was all her overactive imagination needed to whisk her into her Victorian-esque dream world.

Though she found that she couldn't feel _too_ guilty. She supposed that she would be back to the reality of murder and mayhem soon enough. She should enjoy the reprieve while it lasted.

* * *

_Click._

Despite the seriousness of his situation, Jane couldn't help but grin as the line went dead. Nothing in the world could have made him feel better right now, then hearing her voice. There was something strangely comforting about bickering with her that way when the rest of his life was imploding on itself. It made him remember that there was still normalcy in his life, at least for now.

And suddenly, in one shining moment of clarity, he made his decision.

There could not be a world without Teresa Lisbon in it. Someone should have the chance to cherish her as much as he did. He knew she deserved that, even though it killed him to think of her with someone else.

Once he went through with it, he knew that they'd be through. He would have committed the ultimate betrayal, and he doubted that she'd even be able to look at him anymore.

But Teresa Lisbon was the one light in his life and he was not about to let Red John extinguish it.

Not this time.

* * *

**So that's the first chapter. Please let me know if you'd like to read more. This is the only time I will ask for reviews, I promise. Even if just one person wants me to continue, then I will. Drop me a line with that handy-dandy review button just below. **


	2. The Beginning Of The End

**Thanks for the great response to the first chapter. Here's chapter two.**

**Note: This story is set post 'Red Box' but pre season finale.**

* * *

The sun rose over California, bathing the land in its famous golden glow. Standing at the window in his woefully empty Malibu mansion, Patrick Jane greeted the dawn. He'd always liked the view early in the morning when the rolling waves caught the light, making them sparkle like a patchwork of ever-moving sequins. But today, it was merely irritating. There shouldn't be allowed to be such beauty in the world when his own life was about to take yet another turn for the worse.

His eyes itched with tiredness, as once again, he had been unable to fall asleep. It was an occupational hazard of living such a screwed-up life he thought, and no amount of sleeping pills seemed to be able to cure it.

He wandered down the stairs and out the door, not bothering to lock it behind him, for what did he have left to steal? There was nothing inside but a mattress and a collection of bad memories. As always, he left the Malibu house not knowing when, if ever, he'd be back.

* * *

Somewhere in the world, the mysterious enigma known only as Red John was waking up too from a restless night's sleep. But unlike Jane, Red John faced the new day with a grim sort of optimism. It really had been too long since Red John had crossed paths with his so-called 'nemesis' though he rather thought that to be far too generous a term.

Calling Jane a nemesis meant defining him as an equal and as far as Red John was concerned, Patrick Jane was streets behind him in every possible way.

Certainly he was intelligent, in his own showy way, but everyone knew that smoke and mirrors could only get you so far. The man had no subtlety, no patience and no sense of a logical thought process, instead choosing to bumble around tricking truth out of people with his pseudo psychic, fraudulent routine, and like the ignorant, mindless masses that they were, people fell for it every time.

And therein lay Patrick Jane's greatest weakness. He was unable to see people for what they were: commodities. Pawns if you will, to assist in the plans of a superior being such as Red John himself. Used to further his own personal goals, and easily sacrificed when they no longer served any useful purpose. Plenty more where they came from.

Jane should have learned from last time about the dangers of forming attachments, especially if he wanted to engage in this dangerous battle of wits with Red John. Attachments lead to a loss of objectivity and therefore impacted on judgement. Without attachment, there could be no weakness, only strength.

And yet Patrick Jane had allowed himself to get emotionally invested in something once again.

To be fair, Red John could understand why the young agent had caught Jane's attention. Of course, he had only second-hand knowledge garnered by his last spy in the CBI, who had helped dispose of the wretched Agent Bosco and get his case file back into Jane's hands. From what she had told him, Agent Lisbon was tough, tenacious, fiery and unwilling to back down for any reason, the very qualities he himself had valued in a woman before he had embraced the way of higher thought.

And it was these qualities that would facilitate the final destruction of Patrick Jane for good.

But before he got started on that he really ought to meet her, he thought. Soon.

* * *

"Jane, what gives?" Wayne Rigsby demanded to know as an empty-handed Patrick exited the elevator into the bullpen. "It's Wednesday."

Jane wondered for a minute what he was talking about. Eventually a tiny portion of his mind managed to stop thinking about Red John just long enough to make the distinction. Wednesday. Doughnuts day.

"So it is," said Jane dryly. "Sorry Rigsby, it must have slipped my mind."

Rigsby scowled. "Shop's just down the street," he pointed out. "Why don't you go pick some up now, we'll cover for you."

Jane let out a humourless chuckle. "Cover for me? What are you going to do, take turns napping on the couch and filling in Sudoku puzzles?" he asked. "Why don't _you _go? You're the one who wants them so badly."

"What's the matter?' asked Van Pelt. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"

"No. That would have required me to actually get some sleep, Grace," he snapped, and she recoiled.

Predictably, Rigsby jumped quickly to her defense. "Don't speak to her like that, what's the matter with you?"

"Wayne, you don't need to stick up for me. I can speak for myself," she said calmly, but with a slight edge to her voice.

Relations between Rigsby and Van Pelt were still a little strained on account of their recent break-up and so the two were prone to snap at each other a little more than usual these days.

"I was just trying to help," he said, irritably.

"Well don't," she told him firmly. "And Jane, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

He nodded, and went to his couch. The usual friendly atmosphere of the bullpen was replaced with a tense silence, punctuated by Rigsby shooting Jane a dirty look every now and then, whenever he thought Van Pelt wasn't looking.

Much as he didn't like it, Jane felt his new attitude was a good one, on the whole. Once he'd thoroughly screwed Lisbon over, the rest of them would all hate him anyway. Best to start easing himself into it now, so it didn't come as so much of a shock further down the track.

The strain did not abate any when Cho, who probably wouldn't have mentioned anything if the office was being destroyed by a rampaging rhinoceros, arrived and immediately sat down to his work.

It was only when Lisbon arrived a few minutes later that the silence was broken.

"Morning," she greeted them all, briskly.

Van Pelt murmured a greeting and Rigsby half-waved while the other two ignored her completely. For Cho, that was not unusual. He was hardly known for his sparkling social skills. For Jane, it set alarm bells ringing. Why hadn't he jumped up from his couch to greet her like he always did? And more importantly, where the hell were the doughnuts?

She looked at the empty space on the table where the box should've been. Of course he would've picked this week to forget them wouldn't he, when she'd barely eaten anything in over two days. It was the story of her life.

Looking around again, she noticed Van Pelt and Rigsby pointedly avoiding each other's gaze, and prayed to high heaven that they weren't having another fight. She was getting sick of having to stick her head in the proverbial sand and pretend to Hightower that there weren't unresolved issues there, when there so obviously were.

And still, Jane had not acknowledged her presence. She would usually have threatened to shoot him at least twice by now, and the sudden departure from her morning routine was unsettling. He was being far too quiet, and a quiet Jane was worrisome. She didn't like it when she didn't know what was going on in that blonde head of his. It made him unpredictable and that made him dangerous.

She wandered over to the couch and kicked it, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"What's with you?" she asked, without preamble.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me Jane, I'm not in the mood. Is there a reason for the sulking?"

He stretched, theatrically. "Just tired, that's all."

"Not good enough. You're an insomniac; you're always tired. Now what's the problem?"

"I might ask you the same question. You seem even more impatient and irritable than usual today, Lisbon."

"Probably has something to do with the fact that you felt the need to call me at eleven o clock last night with no other purpose than to annoy me."

"Au contraire my dear, I simply wanted to hear your voice."

It was the truth after all, and the beauty of it was that he could tell her so and she wouldn't believe him anyway. It was one of the few fringe benefits of being viewed as a habitual liar.

"Look," she said after a time. "I really don't care what your problem is. Just do me a favour and snap out of it!"

Without further comment, she swept into her office.

Jane resisted the temptation to bang his head against the nearest wall. It was all too easy to fall back into the routine of their daily sparring and forget his new central purpose.

He remembered the way her eyes flashed with anger, and the delicate scent of her perfume, even the little scornful noise she'd made when he told her why he'd called last night. She was all he had left in this world.

How could he possibly be expected to give that up?

* * *

Lisbon sank into her desk chair, head still reeling from the bizarre confrontation she'd just had with her consultant. He'd seemed almost defeated as he lay there on his couch not unlike the way he got after a Red John case. For a few weeks after every failure he would retreat into himself even more than usual, and as time went on it was getting harder and harder to pull him back.

She worried that he would soon get to the point when he would completely lose faith in her and go hunting for Red John himself, or something equally as stupid.

It wasn't that she didn't understand his motivation. Ever since Bosco, revenge had been presenting a very attractive picture to her. She'd never liked killing if she could help it but a part of her deep inside thought a monster like Red John, who had destroyed so many lives, well and truly deserved it.

But as an officer of the law, she simply didn't have that luxury. Her job was to uphold the law, whether she thought it was right or not. She didn't think Jane knew how much she sometimes wanted to do exactly what he was planning, if only to spare him any more pain.

She saw the hurt in his eyes whenever Red John slipped through their fingers yet again, she felt his frustration when witness after witness ended up dead. Every time, she saw Red John take another piece of Patrick Jane, and one had to wonder how much of him would be left by the time they were done.

The phone on her desk rang, interrupting her musings.

"Lisbon."

"Good morning Agent Lisbon." The stern voice of Madeline Hightower came down the phone line.

"Good morning ma'am."

"I'd like to see you in my office, as soon as it's convenient. You have a new case."

"Yes ma'am. I'll be right there."

She walked back out into the bullpen. "I'm going to see Hightower," she announced.

To her surprise, Jane sat up. "Mind if I come with?" he asked.

"What for?"

"I'm bored." He smiled at her, but it wasn't even to close to the knee-buckling, heart-melting smile he usually sent her way.

"Sure. If you must."

When they reached Hightower's office, she called them inside before Lisbon even had a chance to knock.

"Ah, Agent Lisbon." She raised her eyebrows as Jane trailed in after her. "And your shadow."

Jane shrugged. "I like to be where the action is."

Hightower let her eye fall thoughtfully on him for a minute but didn't take the matter further. Instead, she addressed Lisbon.

"I've just got a call about a body that was found floating in the Sacramento River. We're the closest asset, so it's ours."

"Any ID?"

"I don't know. Details are pretty sketchy at the moment. Get over there and check it out."

"Yes ma'am." Lisbon began to rise from her seat.

"Lisbon, one more thing. This week we will be conducting performance reviews on yourself and your team, with the exception of Mr. Jane. I would suggest that for your own sake, you keep him on a very tight leash. You're on thin ice as it is."

Lisbon nodded.

Hightower then turned to Jane. "If you have any concern at all for Lisbon's welfare, do her a favour and be on your best behaviour. I don't want to have to find an alternative arrangement."

No one in the room was in any doubt as to what 'an alternative arrangement' meant. There was a brief silence, and then Hightower too rose from her chair.

"Thank you both. That will be all."

* * *

The timing of it all was almost comical, Jane thought as he and Lisbon made their way back to rejoin the rest of the team. If he played his cards right, he could have her thrown out of the CBI this very week, long before the month deadline. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he considered what work would be like without her.

The California Bureau of Investigation without Teresa Lisbon. He just couldn't picture it. He tried to imagine someone else in her office, someone else driving the Suburban, and someone else leading the team around to crime scenes. It just wasn't right.

But at the back of his mind, he knew what would happen if he didn't follow through and it was much, much worse. He had a sudden, horrifying vision of a darkened room, a brand new smiley face on the wall, still glistening wet, the fresh blood trail snaking towards the floor, and underneath it…

"Guys!" Lisbon barked beside him, and he realized they were back in the bullpen. "We've got a case. Get ready to roll."

At once, the three agents sprung into action, turning off their computers, reaching for their coats and holstering their weapons.

She turned to him. "Come to my office."

He obeyed, shutting the door behind them.

"You heard what Hightower said," she began. "I can't afford any screw-ups on this one. So before you do anything, talk to anyone, or implement any kind of 'brilliant ruse' _please _run it by me first."

"Sure thing."

"I mean it Jane. If we can prove to Hightower that we can close cases without throwing the CBI into uproar, then she'll get off our backs."

"You mean she'll get off _your _back. As I recall, she has no intention of doing anything to me."

"Fine." She exhaled heavily. "Jane, I am asking you as your boss, and as your friend, to do me this one favour. Let's just get through this case without any major disasters, OK?"

It was lucky he was such a good liar. It came in handy when making promises he knew he wouldn't be able to keep.

He reached out a hand and clasped her shoulder quickly.

"It's going to be fine, Lisbon. I promise."

She beamed at him, and seeing that beautiful smile made him feel, if it was possible, even worse. He couldn't be entirely sure, but he thought he felt his heart spilt in half.

"Thanks Jane," she said sincerely. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to find the words to describe how much it meant to her that he was in her corner on this. All she could do was wait, and hope, and maybe, just maybe things really would be OK.

* * *

**I hope you liked it. I've never written from RJ's perspective before but i have to admit, it was kind of fun!**


	3. Laying Down The Law

**Another day, another chapter. Pairing and rate still the same. **

'**The Mentalist' still isn't mine. Damn it. **

* * *

Jane felt like he wanted nothing more than to avert his eyes from Lisbon. She looked so hopeful; it made what he was about to do to her even more abhorrent. But he forced himself to keep eye contact. He deserved every little bit of gut-wrenching misery that he was feeling right now.

Lisbon must have seen something in his expression as her smile began to falter.

"Jane, are you all right?"

Her voice echoed like they were standing in the world's longest tunnel.

When she failed to elicit a response from her consultant, Lisbon poked him hard in the arm.

"Earth to Jane…"

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. "Yes, sorry Lisbon. Just got a little distracted."

She frowned. "No kidding. You've been even weirder than usual this morning. Are you sick or something?" She examined his face closely, as if trying to diagnose invisible symptoms.

"No."

"Are you sure?" she asked, concernedly. "You look pale. Here, sit down for a minute."

"I'm OK, I swear."

"Jane. Sit." It was no longer a request, but a command.

Not being bothered to argue, Jane allowed himself to be lead over to his second-favourite couch in the world, where he liked to spend a few hours each night keeping Lisbon company until whatever ungodly hour she chose to leave. He liked the idea that he was watching over her, even if only temporarily.

He was going to miss that when she left, he thought morosely.

"Let me just see if you're running a fever," she said, reaching out a hand. Jane had to fight the strong urge to flinch. The last time Lisbon had aimed a hand at his face, it had resulted in an extremely painful (though admittedly well-deserved) blow to the nose.

You could say whatever you wanted about Teresa Lisbon, but there was no doubt that the woman could throw a damn good punch.

Today however, her touch was gentle as she rested the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're a little warm," she said presently. "Are you positive you don't feel sick?"

If he did feel warm, Jane was convinced it had little to do with any illness and a lot to do with her very close proximity. It didn't help that her skin was so soft either, he thought, ruefully.

Though he had to admit he was rather enjoying being fussed over like this. He'd always suspected she had a nurturing side somewhere within her, buried deep under the sarcasm and laser-beam glares he knew and loved, but this was the first time he'd experienced it first-hand. It was a pleasant change from his usual tough-as-nails Lisbon.

"Correct me if I'm wrong Lisbon, but do I detect actual concern for my wellbeing?" he asked, to distract her.

"Don't get used to it," she said. "You're my responsibility and I can't have you keeling over at the crime scene or whatever. That would not look good for me."

He grinned half-heartedly. "Come now Lisbon. When have you ever known me to be less than 100% healthy and willing to assist?"

"The 'assistance' part is debatable," she said, removing her hand from his forehead. "And though I know you like to think of yourself as some sort of higher being, I'll remind you that you are in fact, a human. And sometimes humans get sick."

"I'm fine."

She knew better than to argue the point further.

"Whatever you say. But if you're not sick you've got no excuse for unacceptable behaviour. I really need the whole team to bring their A-game on this. I don't want to give Hightower any more cause to hate me than she already does."

"She doesn't hate you-"

Jane was interrupted by a knock on the door and Rigsby poked his head in.

"We're all set, boss. Ready to go?"

* * *

"We should take two cars in case we need to split up, " Lisbon told her team when she and Jane got back out into the bullpen. "I'll take one and Cho, you take the other."

"I'll ride with Cho," Rigsby quickly volunteered.

She nodded. "OK. Van Pelt you can come with Jane and me. Let's go."

Grace agreed, but cringed on the inside. Sharing a car with Jane and Lisbon and their constant bickering always gave her a headache. Unfortunately, the alternative was worse. Fifteen minutes in an enclosed space with her ex-boyfriend and his best friend was an experience she could do without.

* * *

When they got down to the car, Lisbon arched her eyebrows in surprise as Jane climbed into the back. He usually insisted on riding up front with her, in fact in her mind, she had long since labelled that seat as being exclusively his. It felt strange to look across and see Van Pelt sitting there.

She had a nagging feeling that something might be going on with her consultant that he wasn't telling her about, and it distressed her. The last thing she needed was to have him running off on some personal crusade and getting himself hurt… or worse. If that happened, she could kiss her career goodbye.

While stopped at a red light, she glanced over her shoulder to see him leant right back against the seat asleep, or pretending to be. Whatever the deal was, she hoped she could find out before it was too late. But for now, she resolved to put it out of her mind. She had a case to focus on.

* * *

Cho and Rigsby reached the crime scene first and were getting the details from the fisherman who had found the body when the others arrived. Jane lagged a little behind the two female agents as they ducked under the tape.

"Cho, what do we got?" asked Lisbon.

"Fisherman cast some nets into the river, leaves them for a few hours. When he comes back there's something huge tangled up in one of them. He pulls it in expecting the mother of all fish, but finds the victim instead."

"Talk about the catch of the day," she said quietly, looking a few feet away where Rigsby was still questioning the fisherman. "Speaking of which, where's the body?"

"Just through here." Cho took the lead as they picked their way through the undergrowth along the riverbank.

The victim was male, and Caucasian and looked to be in his early forties. He was wearing jeans, a plain black shirt and sneakers.

"I guess it's too much to hope for that he'd have a wallet on him?" Lisbon asked.

Cho shook his head. "Even if he did have it with him when he went into the drink, it's long gone by now."

"Damn. Do we at least have cause of death?"

"Drowning would be the obvious guess, but we won't know until the coroner takes a look."

"So we have nothing, and no place to start with the investigation," Lisbon complained. "Great."

"We've already started running his prints through AFIS. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"I won't hold my breath." She turned around to face Jane who was leaning against a tree, stifling a yawn. "Any insights Jane?"

"Nothing particularly useful."

"Well you're not exactly killing yourself with effort," she snapped at him.

"Lisbon if I'd managed to glean any information I'd have told you. As it happens, I have not. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and began to make his way back the way they had come.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" Lisbon called after him.

"I'm taking a walk. Processing crime scenes is boring. Shout if you need me."

He slipped between two trees and was lost from view.

* * *

Jane walked the short distance back to where Rigsby had just finished up talking to the witness. "Thanks a lot Mr. Robertson," he was saying. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

"You know where to find me. And hey, now we're done do you mind if I take my net back?"

"I'm sorry sir but we need it for evidence. We'll have to keep it for the duration of the investigation."

"And how long will that be? I've got a quota to fill."

"I really couldn't say, sir. These things take time. Oh hey Jane," he added as he saw the consultant approaching them. "Where are the others?"

"Still working the scene," he answered. "Just walk through there and you'll find them."

"I better get over there, see if the boss needs an extra pair of hands."

He went crashing away through the bushes and Jane listened as his heavy footfalls gradually died away.

"Can I leave now?" the disgruntled fisherman asked him, after Rigsby had gone.

"I expect so. Unless of course you're the killer, in which case you should stick around and confess. Save us all a lot of time."

Robertson looked offended. "Are you out of your mind? You think_ I_ did this?"

Jane shrugged. "Is it such an unreasonable thing to suggest?"

"Damn right, it's unreasonable. Listen here Einstein, if I killed him why would I have called you guys in?"

"I don't know. Criminals can be pretty stupid sometimes."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Depends. Are you calling yourself a criminal?"

The other man's eyes narrowed. "What would you know anyway, you don't even look like a cop!" he accused.

"Oh, I'm not a cop. I'm just a consultant. Doesn't mean I don't know a scumbag when I see one."

"You don't know a damn thing about me."

"Oh no? You like fishing because it's such a solitary profession and you don't know how to conduct yourself in social situations. The very reason your wife left you I'm sure. Ran off with your best friend from high school and took you to the cleaners in the divorce settlement. So now you're stuck paying her alimony while living in a crappy one bedroom apartment you can barely afford. How am I doing so far?"

Robertson's hands slowly balled into fists. 'Either you shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Jane coolly.

The sound of crunching leaves alerted them both to a new arrival. Lisbon emerged from amongst the bushes, brushing leaves out of her hair.

"There you are!" she exclaimed at the sight of Jane. "This whole disappearing act trick of yours is getting really tired."

"Are you this man's supervisor?" asked Robertson.

"Yes," she answered warily. "I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon."

"Well Agent Lisbon, I want to lodge an official complaint."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that this man is a total lunatic! I do you guys a favour and this is the thanks I get. Not only does he try to psycho-analyze me, he accuses me of being a killer!"

"You misunderstood me," Jane cut in. "I didn't call you a killer I said you were a scumbag, and an inattentive one too, by the sounds of it."

"Jane!" Lisbon chastised him, sending him a look that clearly wished him a slow and painful death. "I apologize for my colleague's rudeness," she said soothingly to Robertson. "He was out of line, and I can promise he'll be dealt with."

"No, don't apologize to this ignorant jerk. I only said things that were true. Not my problem if he can't handle that," Jane interjected scathingly.

"Do you have any control over this jackass at all?" yelled Robertson at Lisbon. "Whoever decided to give you the boss job was clearly an idiot!"

Jane could see Lisbon's hackles go up at this unfair attack. "Sir, I can understand why you're upset but I can assure you-"

"Save it!" Robertson cut her off, "I have better things to do then hang around being harassed by morons like him!" He jerked a thumb towards Jane. "You might want to think about teaching him a little respect, Agent Lisbon but I suppose if you were an even slightly _competent_ boss, you would have done that already."

With that he left the scene, ignoring Lisbon's apologies that she shouted after him.

* * *

Lisbon turned to Jane with murder in her eyes.

"What part of 'no screw-ups' didn't you understand?" she asked him.

"It was an accident," he defended, unconvincingly. "I didn't mean to, it was just an involuntary reflex."

She sighed in frustration. "I thought we agreed to play this one by the book. You promised me."

The only thing worse than her anger was the hurt and utter betrayal he could see in her eyes. Once again, she had extended her trust to him, and once again he'd let her down. It was almost more than he could bear.

"Lisbon, I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry. I've heard those two words from you so often they've pretty much lost all meaning."

He hated the sadness in her voice, like she was losing all hope. He wanted so badly to explain, to tell her he was only doing this to protect her, how it was almost killing him to hurt her so badly. How he'd never have done it if there were any other choice.

How she was more precious to him than anything else in the world and that there was almost nothing he wouldn't do if it meant keeping her safe.

"I don't know why I keep doing this to myself," she said quietly, more to herself than him. "I guess I just thought that for once you could stop thinking about yourself and do this one thing for me. I figured that after all these years of working together, I might actually mean something to you. Stupid, huh?" She chuckled, but the sound was without any real humour.

"And do you know what's worse?" she went on. "You looked me in the eye and you promised me. And like an idiot, I believed you. If I were half as good a cop as I should be, I would've known better."

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse, here it was. A new low. She was a great cop, the best he'd ever known and now she was doubting herself. And it was all his fault.

Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho arrived back from the crime scene at the same time. "Coroner's here," Cho reported. "We're all done."

"Without an ID we can't really go any further," she said. "Let's head back to the office and figure out our next move."

"You got it."

* * *

"Lisbon!" Hightower pounced as soon as they walked back into the CBI building. "A word, please."

Lisbon reluctantly approached her, gauging her superior's frown and quickly tapping foot.

"I just got off the phone with your witness," Hightower began, not troubling to keep her voice low. "He said he was abused and harassed by one of your team. I take it he means Jane?"

"Well yes, but-"

Hightower held up a hand to silence her.

"He also said that you exercised no discipline over him whatsoever. It that true?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Not exactly the ideal start to performance review week is it?"

People's heads were turning and they whispered to their neighbours as Teresa Lisbon the CBI golden girl, was reprimanded by her boss. Jane rather thought she looked like the kid who got sent to the principal's office for something she didn't do.

He also thought it was unnecessarily cruel of Hightower to take her to task in front of everybody like this. Couldn't she have done it in her office?

"I've managed to smooth things over for the time being, but I expected much more of you, Agent Lisbon," Hightower went on. "I'm extremely disappointed."

"I know ma'am. I'll talk to him about it."

"I suggest you do so. Maybe this morning I didn't make clear the precarious situation you're in, so I'll spell it out for you now. Jane is out of control. Either you start pulling rank, or we find someone else who is up to the job. Consider this incident your first strike. Two more strikes and you're out."

Jane watched Lisbon's face fall even further then it had already, and found he then had to look away. Even though he knew this was the way things had to play out, it didn't mean it hurt him any less.

"Yes ma'am,' said Lisbon again and Jane was proud of the way she didn't allow her voice to falter and how she stood up a little straighter as if determined not to let Hightower see how upset she was.

"I don't want to have to fire you, Lisbon," Hightower said. "But you have a serious problem in your unit. Fix it."

Without giving her companion a chance to answer, she turned and left.

Every eye was fixed upon Lisbon as she fought to retain her composure.

"Cho," she said loudly and firmly. "As soon as we have an ID, come get me. I'll be in my office."

He nodded.

As serenely as she could, and not looking at anyone, she retreated into the safety of her office and firmly shut the door.

A babble of talk swelled up but was immediately dispelled by a hard look from Cho and gradually, everyone returned to their work.

Jane peered in through the window and caught sight of Lisbon with her head in her hands, looking as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. He felt immensely guilty, and could only wish there were something he could do to help her through this.

When she glanced up briefly, he noted how exhausted she looked and how fragile, like she might fall to pieces at any moment.

He went back to his couch, leaving her to her solitude.

* * *

**How I love writing angst. Next chapter will have more RJ. Stay tuned!**


	4. Liquor and Leverage

**A new chapter is upon us! This one is quite Lisbon-centric but as promised, there is also an appearance by everyone's favourite (or least favourite) psychopath, Red John.**

**Rating still T, mostly for themes.**

**Disclaimer: *****laughs hysterically***** You think I own it? That's a good joke.**

**And thank you, thank you for all your reviews. I promise that from now on I will endeavour to respond to them all personally. If you can spare the time to review, then I can damn well reciprocate.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Never had the bottle of tequila in her bottom desk drawer looked so inviting to Lisbon than right now. She slid the drawer open and even went so far as to grasp the bottle by its neck, ready to pull it out.

She knew she shouldn't do it. She was on duty, and drinking on the job was expressly against CBI rules, not to mention her own personal code of conduct, which was largely based on the concept of maintaining strict professionalism at all times.

But on the other hand, why the hell should she care about what the CBI had to say about it? They certainly weren't having any qualms about throwing her under the bus for the sake of Patrick Jane. If her little chat with Hightower had been anything to go by, she may as well start clearing out her desk now.

No matter what happened, her consultant was guaranteed to come out of it with his job and reputation intact while whatever resulting shit storm he had managed to create came down hard on _her _head.

It just wasn't fair.

With a spiteful determination, she took the bottle from the drawer and poured herself a generous amount.

Surely just one drink wouldn't do her any harm, and God knew her day was going badly enough that it would be perfectly understandable to most people if she drank the whole bottle. And here she was, restraining herself to only one glass.

She raised the glass to her lips, and in so doing thought of Bosco. Tequila had been his favourite drink and she remembered many late nights at the SFPD where the two of them had sat together in his office, each nursing a glass and just talking. They would talk about cases and colleagues and he would recount with fatherly pride all his daughter's latest achievements. Some nights they would sit there and say nothing at all with the only sounds being the clinking of glass against wood and the creaking of the aging desk chairs they sat in.

The very last time they had done it was the night before she left San Francisco to join the CBI. She recalled barely being able to sit still, for she had been so excited to start the new chapter in her life. To be joining the ranks of the state agents, and maybe even one day to be running her own team, was all she had ever dreamed of.

The Teresa Lisbon of all those years ago would barely recognize herself now. Once the kind of woman not willing to take no for an answer and who was not afraid to stand up for herself against any adversary, here she was, huddled in her office, allowing others to determine her fate in whether or not she would be keeping the job she loved. Teresa Lisbon of today was barely managing to hold herself together.

What would Bosco say if he saw her now? Reduced to this shell of her former self, as far removed from the bright young detective he had mentored, as it was possible to be.

During the time he'd been working with the CBI he'd been forever telling her that by aligning herself with Jane, she was losing herself. How she wasn't the cop she used to be and that she'd allowed herself to get caught up in the glitz and glamour that came along with working with someone like Jane. He'd pointed out that every positive feature of their arrangement was offset by at least three negatives including the disdain of her colleagues, the piles of complaints and lawsuits directed at them, and the general view that the SCU was becoming less of an official investigative unit than it was a party trick.

Again and again she had defended her consultant against his claims, telling herself that they stemmed purely from Bosco's deep resentment for Jane, because she just couldn't face the possibility that he might actually be right.

For this excuse to work however, she had to ignore the fact that it was a resentment that Jane cheerfully returned. Whenever the two men came across each other, whether it be in her office, or even by accident in the tearoom, the air felt like it was vibrating with intense dislike.

There had been whispers around the office that Jane and Bosco's animosity toward each other came from a hypothetical tug-of-war for her affections, but she refused to believe that. _Her _affections, of all things. Ridiculous. She doubted Jane even possessed the emotional capacity to love someone, and as for Sam, he had been happily married. Even with Bosco's deathbed confession, she would not accept it to be true.

What did it matter now, anyway? Bosco was gone, and she could not turn to him to help her get herself out of this mess.

She needed to make choices, starting with this tequila.

To drink, or not to drink? That was the question.

If she drank, it was akin to admitting defeat. If she didn't, she was letting herself in for a fight, one she could lose in so many ways.

What to do?

For many minutes, she stared at the tequila bottle.

There was no single moment that decided it for her, more a realization of what she had always known.

She had to fight for herself. Nobody else was going to, after all. Jane had made it quite clear that she was expendable, a means to an end.

Well, he may have been willing to sacrifice her life for his stupid revenge but she, Teresa Lisbon, was not. Not anymore. She would not let him destroy everything she had worked so hard for.

The tequila in the glass was tipped back into the bottle, and the bottle itself returned to its place in her desk drawer.

She wouldn't be drawn down the dark path of alcoholism like her father, and certainly not on the account of Patrick Jane.

It was time for her to take control of her life and her unit and therefore, Patrick Jane was going to fall into line if it was the last she ever did. How she was going to do that, she wasn't yet sure but she damn well wasn't going to get any results by hiding out in her office.

Teresa Lisbon was just as invaluable to the CBI as Jane and it was about time that her superiors (namely Hightower) started acknowledging that. She knew she was a good agent; her close rate had been good before Jane came along. Granted, he certainly sped up the process considerably but through hoaxes and trickery. It was time to get back to what she did best, good old-fashioned police work, and somehow she would make it mesh with Jane's somewhat unorthodox style.

For both of their sakes, they had to make it work.

* * *

Jane lay with his eyes closed and listened to the others tapping on keyboards and clicking the mouses on their computers. Try as he might, he couldn't get the image of Lisbon out of his head. He'd never seen her like that before, looking so lost. He hadn't expected that. He'd been prepared for furious tirades and death glares, but not for that.

And the worst part was that he wasn't even close to finished screwing around with her. He wanted more than anything to call the whole stupid thing off, while knowing that he had no choice but to step it up. Her life depended on it.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have believed it possible that he could despise Red John any more than he did already, but now with the loss of someone so dear to him hanging over his head like a dagger, he felt more hatred than ever. He was so filled with it, that it was wonder he didn't simply explode.

"Eureka," said Van Pelt, with a triumphant smile. "We have an ID."

"Good work Van Pelt," said Cho. "Boss?" he called.

Lisbon emerged from her office, and Jane immediately noticed something different in her air. She walked straight and tall, with her head held high and looked every bit in control of the situation. He was glad to see that she no longer looked upset, but coolly determined. He knew her well enough to know that this wasn't fake either, like her little display for Hightower. It was totally genuine. That was one of the numerous things he found fascinating about her. When Teresa Lisbon hit a wall, she didn't give in. She came back stronger than ever.

"Who's our John Doe?" she asked the team at large.

Van Pelt turned her laptop around so Lisbon could see. "Meet Eric Sterling. He's forty-three years old. In the system due to several assault charges."

"Any convictions?"

Van Pelt tapped away at the keys for a minute. "Served a year at Pelican Bay for an assault causing grievous bodily harm." She winced. "Apparently he beat a guy half to death for looking at his wife the wrong way."

"Our killer must be pretty tough if they managed to get the drop on this guy," said Rigsby.

"According to this, he and his wife Nicole live in downtown Sacramento. Here's their last known address." She handed Lisbon a computer printout.

"OK. Do we know where he works?"

"Says here he's a forklift operator for one of the shipping companies down at the docks."

"Good. Get down there, and take Rigsby with you. See what you can find out."

Van Pelt and Rigsby exchanged uncomfortable glances, but made no argument. Being alone together was not something either of them desired, but it had been bound to happen sooner or later. This was the choice they had made after all. They had forfeited their relationship in favour of their careers and now they had to put that decision to the test.

Either Lisbon didn't notice the sudden tension, or she didn't care, for she spared them no further attention and instead turned to Cho.

"Come on, you and I have to break the news to the wife."

"Hooray," said Cho, blankly.

"I know, I hate it too but we gotta do it. It's part of the job. If you guys come across anything interesting, call me," she said to Rigsby and Van Pelt without turning around. Then, she and Cho headed for the elevator.

It was like Jane was not even present. She hadn't said a word to him nor had she even looked at him once. At once, he leapt up from the couch and hurried to catch up with her. He figured it went without saying that he would be accompanying Lisbon and Cho to the wife's house. It was the way they'd always worked. Wherever she went, he went too.

"What are you doing?" she asked him when he joined them.

"Coming to speak to Nicole Sterling," he said.

"No you're not. You're staying here."

"What?"

"Since I can't trust you to behave yourself, you are staying at the CBI where there'll be plenty of people around to keep an eye on you."

"You can't do that!" he protested.

"And why the hell not? You insist on acting like a child, so I thought it was time I started treating you like one."

Sensing the argument brewing, Cho endeavoured to make himself scarce. "Boss give me the keys and I'll go bring the car around," he said, and disappeared gratefully into the elevator.

"So what am I supposed to do while you're all gone?" he asked.

Lisbon shrugged. "I don't know, play Sudoku, or stare at the stain on the ceiling or have a cup of tea or whatever it is you do when you're here at work. I really don't care."

"But you need me!" he whined. "How will you know if she's lying to you or not if I'm not there?"

"Believe it or not, when you've interviewed as many people as Cho and I have, you do pick up on a few things. Just because we don't show it off in the arrogant way you do doesn't mean we're totally clueless."

"Arrogant? You think I'm arrogant? That's hurts me, sweetheart. That really hurts."

"Don't call me that!" she snapped at him.

He looked very hurt. "You've never minded before," he said.

"Well you see; that was before my career was hanging by a thread. From now on, you will address me only as 'Lisbon' and if you don't, that couch of yours will be the first thing out the door."

His jaw dropped in horror. "You wouldn't."

"Don't bet on it."

"But-"

"That's enough. Cho's waiting for me. If it so happens that I do need your assistance, we'll come back and pick you up. In the meantime, go and sit your ass down and don't move a muscle until we get back."

"But if you're going, and I'm staying how can you be sure I'll stay out of trouble?" he couldn't resist asking.

"Put it this way. Just because I can't fire you doesn't mean I can't make your work life a living hell. Trust me, the loss of the couch will be the least of your worries."

She stepped into the elevator and the doors closed on his horror-struck face.

* * *

Jane watched her leave with a sinking feeling. He'd been planning on spending the next few weeks permanently attached to her side. Since he would soon be losing her forever, he knew he should be making the most of whatever time he had left with her while he still could.

But then again, the sooner she started hating him, the easier it would be for her to have a clean break when the inevitable happened. It had been a good idea in theory, but he wasn't sure how well he could tolerate being despised by the single most important person in his life. He was selfish that way.

Hopefully, the excursion to the wife's house would give her time to simmer down a little and burn out her bad mood enough that she would allow him to go places with her again. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he was missing her already.

* * *

When Lisbon stepped out the door of the CBI, the rays of the midday sun hit the gold badge on her hip, making it glow. The winking light acted as a beacon of sorts, allowing the man on the other side of the road to see exactly where she was.

He had stationed himself at the opposite café for most of the day, watching the people going in and out of the CBI building. He had one specific target in mind, and by the looks of things, he'd just hit the jackpot.

He mentally checked off the woman's physical attributes against the description he had been given. Dark hair, petite build, take-charge ground-eating stride, yes if he had to bet, he would say that this was Teresa Lisbon. A man who looked to be of Asian descent met her at the door and together they proceeded across the parking lot to a black SUV. To his disappointment, there was no sign of Jane anywhere, which surprised him; he'd been told they were practically joined at the hip. Trouble in paradise perhaps?

The woman he presumed to be Agent Lisbon and the Asian man got into the car, seemingly heading to a crime scene. He weighed up his options. If he was quick, he might be able to follow them and perhaps get a better look at her.

He drove behind them at a discreet distance; far enough away to avoid alerting them, but never losing sight of their car for longer than a few seconds until after about forty-five minutes, they pulled up outside a shabby apartment complex. He carefully parked across the street, the spot he chose conveniently falling into the shadow of a building so it provided good cover.

The doors of the SUV opened and he had a clear view of the woman as she exited the driver's side. And my, my, wasn't she a vision? His contempt for Patrick Jane notwithstanding, he had to applaud the man's taste. She was indeed very, very beautiful. It was a nice bonus that the woman so central to his plans for Jane might be so easy on the eye, as they were going to be spending quite a bit of time together.

He studied her until she and her companion disappeared into one of the apartments and decided he would remain until they came out again. The more he observed her, the more information he would gain, and more information meant more power. It was Serial Killer 101.

He wondered if Jane had commenced his sabotage yet. Probably not, he'd be trying to put it off as long as possible. He really didn't have the stomach for this kind of thing; he was no good at making the tough choices. He wanted to have it both ways.

Well it was up to Red John to show him that simply wasn't an option.

It was only a few days into the one-month time limit but Red John felt that Jane might need a little encouragement. Just a little push in the right direction to make sure things were unfolding like they should. And he knew exactly how to do it.

Over his long and illustrious career, Red John had explored several means of getting people to do what he wanted. There was something of an art to it, he had discovered. Different people responded to different kinds of encouragement. It had actually been quite a fascinating study into the human psyche, and if he were the scholarly type, he thought he might have made a thesis out of it some day.

Bribery and trickery were both good solid motivators, but nothing did the job quite like fear. Fear made people desperate, it made them throw away their values and grab on to any alternative. It made them do stupid things. It was the universal motivator, for there wasn't a soul alive who didn't know what it was like to feel terror.

With the exception of himself of course.

And it was fear that he would use while dealing with Jane. After all, he had found the perfect bait. He watched the apartment door open and the two agents came out. Quickly, he opened the glove compartment and removed something from inside.

* * *

Contrary to the beliefs of most of the CBI staff (especially Lisbon) the computer on Jane's desk did get used from time to time. He sometimes used it to check the weather or to download new Sudoku puzzles, and every three months or so, he would check his email account. Each time, there would be a hundred or so new messages and he would spend a peaceful hour reading them all.

According the many chain letters he read, he should've met his true love at least eight times now, died twice and been cursed with bad luck fifty-three times at the last count.

Of course, with no actual friends to speak of, his inbox was usually filled with nothing but spam and newsletters from stores he'd been a member of since his psychic days and hadn't been bothered to cancel.

So it was a surprise to discover a new message right at the top of the page, sent only today from an unfamiliar address and with the subject line blank. Curiously, he clicked in. Several jpeg files accompanied the message and he opened each one in turn.

It was like someone had taken a knife and stabbed him in the gut. He was looking at long-lens, high-resolution photographs that had been taken of Lisbon, and from the time stamp at the bottom of the images, only hours ago.

There were some of her leaving the widow's house, some of her and Cho standing outside conferring and two of her on her cell phone. There was even one of her in the car, pulling out of a parking lot. The photographer had also taken a few shots with the camera zoomed in on her face, so there could be no mistaking the identity of his subject, as if there were ever any doubt.

He turned his attention to the message.

_Mr Jane._

_I trust you enjoyed my photo collage. I took a lot of care in choosing my subject, making sure it was something you would appreciate._

_Quite something, your Agent Lisbon, isn't she?_

_It's not every day a man unearths such a sparkling diamond,(or perhaps I should say emerald, to do justice to those lovely green eyes?) so when he does, it's important he takes care of it._

_It is important for me to reiterate to you just how much is at stake here. I'd hate for something to happen to her, wouldn't you?_

_Don't disappoint me, Mr Jane._

The sign-off was a simple smiley face in red font.

* * *

**Hope you liked it. There will be more soon. If I haven't updated in a while please bear with me, as I'm doing the Secret Santa over on jello forever and I need to get that finished up.**


	5. Spin

**Hey again, guys. Hope you're ready for a new chapter.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed and double thank you to anyone I didn't reply to personally (if that's the case, I promise it wasn't intentional)**

**Rating: Still T**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine**

**And away we go…**

* * *

Jane's head was swimming. He had an unpleasant sensation like a tight knot had settled in his stomach. Even though he turned the computer off right away, it was like the pictures had been burned into his memory. Once again, he had underestimated Red John. He never would have imagined that he would risk exposure just to toy with him. Every time Jane thought they were on the level, Red John stepped it up. How much farther could they push it? And more to the point, what about Lisbon? What if those photos were just the tip of the iceberg?

Just the thought of Red John being close enough as to actually be able to see her, without her being any the wiser, chilled him to the bone. It would be so easy for him to take her whenever he wanted to, to choose the precise moment he ended her life. And she wouldn't even know that it was coming.

He sat down on his couch, but found he wasn't able to sit still and immediately jumped back up again. Up, down, up, down, if anyone had been watching they would have thought he was going mad. When that didn't settle him, he took to pacing up and down the bullpen, turning his head to the elevator every few seconds.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he was surprised he hadn't yet made a dent in the floor as he swivelled around for the umpteenth time to retrace his steps back across the room. Logically, he knew he was probably over-reacting. The message had been a warning after all, and he still had plenty of time before the deadline. In accordance with their agreement there was no reason to think he had harmed her, right? Besides, Cho was with her. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

But this was Red John. Since when had he ever played by the rules? It would be just like him to pull a complete 180 on the situation.

But for his own sake, Red John had better hope that he had stuck to the original plan. If he had touched a single hair on that pretty head of hers, then all bets were off. Lisbon's safety was the serial killer's only collateral in this deadly game that they were playing, and should that promise come off the table, Patrick Jane would have nothing more to lose, and everyone knew there was no more dangerous enemy than one who didn't care what happened to him.

The elevator pinged, drawing his eyes to it instantly. His relief was short-lived as the doors opened revealing not his boss, but two members of the Organized Crime squad.

"Hey Patrick!" the shorter of the two called out to him as they got out. He could barely muster up the presence of mind to wave to them as they proceeded down the hallway. He could think of nobody but Lisbon, and knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he saw her with his own eyes.

Ten more minutes passed and still no sign of her. He pulled out his cell-phone, thumb poised over the speed-dial, debating over whether or not he should call her.

No, he couldn't do that. She'd know something was up.

The elevator pinged again, and he turned hopefully towards it. This time it was Van Pelt and Rigsby who alighted. Rigsby made a beeline for the kitchenette and Grace for her desk.

"Hey," he greeted her, would-be-casually. "Have you heard from Lisbon?"

"No, why?"

"She hasn't yelled at me in hours. Look, I'm going into withdrawal." He held up a quivering hand for her to see.

"Very funny."

"This is no joking matter, Grace. If I don't get my required amount of Lisbon's deliciously nasty cut downs, then I may fall down a path of waywardness I might never return from."

"Too late," The response came not from the redhead but from somewhere behind him. His spirits lifted immediately. He knew that voice.

* * *

Lisbon saw Jane wheel around to face her and to her bemusement, he lit up like a Christmas tree. On any other day, it would've been difficult to keep herself from smiling back at him, but she was grimly pleased to find that she was still too angry with him for that. In the past, she'd let him get away with far too much off the back of that smile, but today she found herself unmoved. Perhaps this annoying kind of control he seemed to have over her was weakening. She was embarrassed that it had needed to go so far as the threat of losing her career to make her grow a little backbone.

She couldn't figure out what had made him so happy. Anyone would have thought she'd risen from the dead.

Her theory was closer to the truth than she might think.

* * *

Jane blew out a sigh of relief as he beheld his boss, looking mildly irritated, but mercifully, all in one piece. The knot in his stomach slowly untwisted itself as he gradually convinced himself that she was safe. For now, Red John had kept his word.

But what about next time? Or the time after that? There was no way to be sure that she wouldn't get hurt, short of somehow preventing her from leaving the office for the rest of the foreseeable future. He chuckled. Perhaps in this instance, Lisbon's workaholism might actually be a good thing. Who'd have known?

But for now, he had to pretend that nothing was wrong. "So what did everybody find out?" he asked them all, cheerfully.

"We didn't get a lot out of the wife," said Cho. "She was pretty shaken up. How'd you and Rigsby do at the docks?" he asked Van Pelt.

She shrugged. "We spoke to his boss, who said that Sterling was a model employee. He knew about Sterling's record but he was OK with it. Worked hard, mostly kept out of trouble."

"Mostly?" asked Lisbon.

"Apparently there was an incident two weeks ago when Sterling got into a fist fight with another employee, Craig Sanderson."

"About what?"

"Boss wasn't sure, but I got Sanderson's address from the personnel files and I was thinking about paying him a little visit this afternoon."

"Good. You and Cho head over there in an hour or so."

"Will do."

Cho's phone rang, and he snatched it up.

"Cho…mmm-hmm…mmm-hmm…mmm-hmm…really?...OK thanks." He put the phone down without saying goodbye.

"The coroner," he said, in response to everyone's questioning look. "She's made a ruling on cause of death."

"And?" prompted Lisbon.

"He was already dead when he went into the water so it wasn't drowning. Apparently she found a tiny mark from a syringe on his neck and he was dosed up with enough ketamine to kill a horse."

"So no question that it's murder," said Lisbon. She looked at her watch. "It's almost two. Everybody take five for lunch and then we'll see what's next."

There was a general murmur of agreement, and the other three rose, and left the bullpen. Still examining her watch, and apparently deep in thought, Lisbon remained where she stood, and so did Jane. When she looked up, she was unpleasantly surprised to find herself alone with her consultant.

Now he saw her up close, Jane could discern faint stress lines in her forehead, and a squareness to her jaw that hadn't been there before. These tiny physical indicators were the only clue to the emotional turmoil he was sure must be raging inside of her. What with the case, and Hightower breathing down her neck, and the stress about performance reviews, he thought even someone as controlled as she was must be very nearly at breaking point.

He was very much aware that what he had in store for her could very possibly push her over the edge.

He wondered if she suspected anything yet, as they gazed at each other for a long moment.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and marched into her office.

* * *

Jane was itching for his mid-afternoon cup of tea which was by now, long overdue. He'd prepared a cup earlier, but had been so consumed with anxiety about Lisbon he hadn't been able to get to a point where he could actually drink it. But now she was back and safely ensconced in her office, the siren call of his favourite blue cup and saucer was just too seductive to resist.

A few minutes later, steaming cup in hand, he left the kitchenette and made to return to his couch. Before he could do so, the voices of Rigsby and Van Pelt floated across the office.

"Lisbon seems a little upset today," said Van Pelt. Jane imagined her speaking between forkfuls of salad as she ate at her desk.

"Well wouldn't you be?" said Rigsby. "Her career's on the line and it all rests on Jane. I'd be stressed too."

"D'you think Hightower was serious about the three strikes?"

"She doesn't kid around."

"Jane won't do anything else though, right? I mean, it's Lisbon we're talking about. I know he has his faults-"

"Many of them."

"-But anyone can see that he cares about her. You know, as much as he's capable."

"Hope that's enough."

So did Jane.

There was a squeaking sound from a desk chair as somebody sat down.

"Talking about Jane?" Cho's dry voice enquired. "Lisbon's mad as hell. She didn't stop complaining about him the whole way to see the widow, except to swear at some guy in a Mercedes that cut us off."

Jane heard low chuckles from the other two.

"Maybe we should talk to him," Van Pelt suggested. "Lisbon's stuck her neck out for him plenty of times over the years. We can remind him that he owes her."

"Won't work," said Cho, flatly. "He's just as stubborn as she is, especially when he thinks he's right about something."

"Which he usually is," Rigsby pointed out.

"The trouble is he's got too much freedom," said Cho. "Hightower lets him get away with anything short of murder and even Lisbon isn't always as hard-line on him as she should be."

There was a brief pause.

"I don't think we need to be worried," said Van Pelt unconvincingly. "Whatever the problem is between Jane and Lisbon, they'll get through it. We see them do it every day. They'll drive each other up the wall, but in the end they always work it out."

There was another silence for a few beats. In the end, it was Rigsby who said out loud what they all were thinking.

"Sure. But what if this time they don't?"

That, Jane thought, was a very good question. Of course, he already knew the answer and he suspected that Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt weren't going to like it very much. Hell, he wasn't all that thrilled with the arrangement himself. And then there was Lisbon. He wouldn't allow himself to think about what an awful predicament Lisbon was about to be in. It was too depressing.

He took a sip of scalding hot tea, and made the same feeble excuses he'd been telling himself ever since this whole debacle had begun…was it really only yesterday? It felt like an eternity.

He was doing this for her own good, he told himself stoically. One day she'd thank him for it.

_"Sure,"_ the larger, cynical part of his brain chipped in. _"And tomorrow Cho's going to announce he's quitting the CBI to become a flying trapeze artist in a travelling circus. Get real."_

Even in his own head it sounded ridiculous.

He paused a minute longer, and then strolled into the bullpen the picture of innocence, like he hadn't just been eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Hey guys," he greeted them breezily, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Hi Jane," replied Van Pelt, surprised. "What are you doing out here? We'd thought you'd be-" She paused, assumedly searching for words.

Cho had no such hesitations, "-In Lisbon's office sucking up to her so she'll let you come with us again," he supplied, smoothly.

Jane settled himself on the couch.

"Nah. I've been thinking about what she said before, and I think she's right. I do get in the way at crime scenes, so maybe it's better if I didn't go."

The other three exchanged astonished looks.

"You're really not going to fight her on this?" asked Van Pelt, incredulously.

"She's in charge. Her call."

Rigsby was looking at Jane as though he'd suddenly grown an extra limb. "But you never give in to stuff this easily," he said, clearly feeling very much wrong- footed.

"I'm turning over a new leaf," Jane said.

"The hell you are," said Cho. "You're up to something."

Jane simply shrugged, thereby ending the conversation.

* * *

He sipped his tea slowly as he processed the conversation in his mind. It hadn't occurred to him that agreeing to defer to Lisbon would arouse such suspicion among his colleagues, but now it had been pointed out, he was amazed that he hadn't thought of it sooner.

For he and Lisbon seemed to operate best when they were working their way through the never-ending chain of events that defined their relationship. He would screw up, she would rant and rave at him, he'd somehow manage to solve whatever problem he had created, she would grudgingly forgive him, everything would be all right for a little while, and then he would screw up, and the cycle started all over again. It was a nice, comforting routine that had served them well over the past couple of years.

And Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt had watched it all happen. They'd overheard vicious arguments, (occasionally stepping in when the tone changed from spiteful to potentially murderous) interrupted Jane and Lisbon's rare heart-to-hearts with extremely ill-timed knocks at the door, (Van Pelt especially had a knack for that), and witnessed him giving her frequent gifts in an attempt to butter her up, (he had heard them all sniggering in the doorway as he presented Lisbon with her birthday pony last year). They too, had become accustomed to the routine, so today's slight deviation had set the alarm bells ringing.

This new development left him in something of a bind. He couldn't afford to have any of them get wind of what he was doing for they would certainly try to stop him, and he didn't have time for any setbacks. Every moment that passed brought him closer to the unthinkable consequences that awaited him if he should fail.

Each tick of the clock marked one less second in which Teresa Lisbon would live and breathe.

So what was he to do? He had to throw them off the scent somehow. But how?

* * *

Lisbon was so deeply immersed in her novel that she didn't hear the knock at the door the first time, but when it happened again, a little louder this time, her peace was brought to an abrupt end.

She didn't know how the book had gotten into her workbag this morning, but she was infinitely glad for it's presence. She welcomed anything that might distract her from the uncontrollable catastrophe formerly known as her life, no matter how fleeting the distraction.

She shoved it guiltily into her bag again, as the tapping resumed.

"Lisbon?" Jane's voice, she realized with some surprise. "Can I come in for a moment? We need to talk."

"No."

Contrary to Jane's hopes, the couple of hours spent away from him had done little to improve Lisbon's bad mood. Still reeling from her interview with Hightower and fuming at Jane's reluctance to apologize, or even admit to any wrongdoing, she wasn't feeling at all inclined to negotiate anything with anyone, Jane in particular.

"Please?" he pressed. "It's important!"

"I said no," she repeated. What did he think, that he was just going to waltz into her office and make everything all better again? Well he was wrong.

"I only ask out of politeness. I'm coming in anyway, whether you like it or not."

"It's locked," she said triumphantly.

Silence from the other side of the door. Then after a moment, a funny clicking noise, and the rattling of the lock. In a split second, she realized what he was doing, and leapt up, but she was already too late. There was a scraping sound as the lock disengaged and the door swung open.

He smirked at her, as he replaced the hairpin back in his pocket. "Oh, Lisbon, when will you learn? If the county jail couldn't keep me in, as if some flimsy mechanism like that could stop me going wherever I choose."

* * *

He really hadn't wanted it to come to that. In a perfect world, he'd would've knocked on the door, she would've welcomed him in with open arms, he would've told her everything, and she would've told him that it was OK and that she understood, perhaps brushing a single tear from her eye at the thought that she had meant so much to him.

She would've happily allowed him to finish off Red John and then before anybody found out what he had done, they would run away together to Paris or Monte Carlo, where he would lavish her with everything her heart desired, they would get married in a private chateau on a mountain-top, and live happily ever after for ever and ever.

But this was the real world.

And in the real world, she stood before him with her arms crossed. Her eyes sparkled not with gentle tears but barely repressed fury.

In the real world, every part of her was tensed, coiled like a snake about to strike and sink it's fangs into unsuspecting prey.

In the real world, she regarded him with nothing more or less than the purest form of loathing.

"Get out." Her voice came out raspy, like she was losing her voice, but he knew it was due to the tremendous effort she was taking not to shout at him and draw the attention of their colleagues.

"There's no need to take that tone with me, you brought this on yourself you know. If you'd just opened the door when I asked you to, none of this would be necessary."

Jane felt rather like the monkey in the fable, who taunted the crocodile as he sat upon the branch high above him, until the branch snapped and the monkey fell into the crocodile's crushing jaws.

But Teresa Lisbon was far scarier than any crocodile, shark, or lion. She could induce fear with the slightest of glances, and when she spoke in that particular acid-drop voice, even the most hardened of criminals would go screaming home to their mothers.

This expedition to her office had been meant to get her back on his side. Sure, she was mad at him, but what else was new? The fight with the fisherman was just another incident report, another reprimand, another slap on the wrist. Business as usual.

There was no way she could have figured out his true purpose this quickly. Maybe the next time he crossed the line (and there would certainly be a next time) she might connect the dots, but now?

Didn't she know how this was supposed to work? They were supposed to be past all the resentment by now and well into the forgiveness. No matter how angry she was, it never lasted very long.

But this time, it seemed like she'd broken the cycle. Her expression didn't change, her posture didn't relax. She just stood there.

And so he just stood there too and waited for the branch to snap.

"Get out of my office, Jane," she said in that same raspy voice. "Now."

"Aw come on, Lisbon," he ventured, tentatively. "We really need to talk."

"Fine. I'll say it again. Get. Out. Of. My. Office. Now."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll have security come in and drag you out by your ankles."

"Oh, will you now?"

"Don't tempt me."

She looked so murderous that Jane thought it wise to accept defeat for now. He held his hands up in surrender.

"OK, we'll talk another time."

He walked back through the door and she finally moved from her statue-like position and followed him. She half-shut the door, and then addressed him.

"If you so much as _think_ of picking this lock again, I won't bother with security, I will _personally_ drag you out by your ankles. And I won't be nearly so gentle."

She shut the door in his face and the lock engaged. It seemed to reverberate around Jane's brain.

* * *

It took him a moment to get a grip on himself, then plastering on a smile as fake as if it had been drawn on with face paint, he made his way back to where the others were convened.

"So, how'd it go this time?' asked Van Pelt, shrewdly.

"Just fine," he lied. "Back to normal."

"At least until the next time you two have a fight," said Rigsby.

"So for about the next half-hour or so," said Van Pelt, grinning.

Jane forced himself to join in with their laughter. Just the four of them sounded incomplete. They needed their leader, their queen bee, to make it feel right to him. They needed _her_ laughter.

But he couldn't shake off the horrible feeling that at the rate he was going, he'd never hear her laughter again.

* * *

**I have kind of mixed feelings about this chapter. At the beginning, I had a good idea where I wanted it to go but it kind of went to a weird place towards the end there. If it was horrible, I blame it on sleep deprivation. Too many 4am get-ups and 5am starts are damaging to the soul (and the brain.)**


	6. Calm Before The Storm

**I am so, so sorry this chapter took so long. Between the Secret Santa and work, this story kind of fell by the wayside for a little while, but now I'm back on track.**

**

* * *

**

"Jane?" Lisbon reluctantly called from her office.

Out on his couch, his eyes flew open and he leaped up and hurried to answer the summons. It was a rare thing these days for Lisbon to actively seek her consultant's presence, so he always did his utmost not to keep her waiting, lest she should change her mind.

Three days had passed since their (for want of a better word) 'discussion' in her office. The Sterling case was progressing incredibly slowly as the Craig Sanderson lead had turned out to be a dead end. The investigation was now focused on trawling through the records of everyone Sterling had been in contact with in the days preceding his death. Given the sheer number of employees at the docks and the fact that many of their backgrounds were of a colourful nature like Sterling's, there was a lot to sift through.

The delay could not have come at a worse time for Lisbon. Closing the case quickly would have done wonders for her performance review, and she figured she'd need all the help she could get when she was given the results. With every fruitless day that passed, she began to feel a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The metaphorical storm clouds were gathering. If they didn't catch a break in the case very soon, she had better brace herself for the tempest that was sure to follow.

She heard Cho say something to Jane as he approached her office and registered his soft response, though she couldn't make out the exact words. Things had been very tense between herself and Jane the last few days. Her anger with him had by no means disappeared, but it had lessened enough for her to be able to at least talk civilly to him about case-related matters. But that was as far as it went. Their conversations lacked the warmth and affectionate undertones they once had and rather then finding excuses to extend their little chats like she used to do, she would say only what she needed and then immediately remove herself from his vicinity.

She'd noticed how hurt he looked every time she did so and couldn't help feeling just the tiniest bit guilty, but she forced herself to shake it off. He had brought this on himself after all; if he could only learn to behave himself things wouldn't have to be this way.

She heard his footsteps getting closer and took a moment to mentally prepare herself. She must be totally calm and rational. If he detected the slightest sign of weakness he would pounce on it, and she couldn't afford to let that happen. Her career, her very way of life, was on the line.

* * *

Jane appeared in his boss's doorframe, and felt the familiar pang as she lifted her eyes from her computer to meet his. Completely devoid of emotion, the green orbs looked as if they belonged to one of their murder victims, rather then the living breathing, woman who sat before him.

There was no anger in her eyes. That was the good news. But the bad news was there wasn't much of anything in them anymore. He'd never bought into the claptrap about eyes being windows to the soul, but he'd always found eyes to be a way to gauge a subject's mood and help him get an insight into their thoughts. And Lisbon's had always been a goldmine of information, every little glance or flicker was a clue. But now, there was nothing. Gone was the sparkle he loved so much, leaving only two expressionless vessels in their place.

"Yes, Lisbon?"

He flashed a smile at her. If he hoped to encourage some kind of reaction, he failed dismally. She continued to regard him with as little interest as if he were a piece of office furniture, or some other everyday inanimate object.

"I want to re-interview the widow," she informed him. "Now the shock's worn off a little, she might be able to help us out a bit more."

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asked, carefully.

"Yes. If she's lying to me, I need to know. I'll finish up here and we'll head out in about 10 minutes."

She turned back to the computer, indicating the conversation was now closed.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, half-hoping that she would look up and see him there and order him away. Even her anger would be better then this total disregard for his presence. He felt invisible, alienated, like a lion cub rejected by its mother. So this was what life was like when you didn't have the privilege of being in Teresa Lisbon's circle of trust. He watched her as she tapped something on the keyboard, watched as a hand impatiently brushed a lock of dark hair away from her face.

Was this how it was going to be now? Standing on the outside willing her to look at him again the way she used to, while knowing that she never would? Cataloguing every little trait and quirk that he was going to miss when she was gone? Torturing himself with possibilities and might-have-beens about what they could have had if he hadn't been so messed up, and allowed his nemesis to draw him into this twisted game of chicken?

* * *

It was a sunny spring day in Sacramento, and it seemed that all their fellow Californians were enjoying it to the fullest. People sat in outdoor cafes drinking coffee and laughing, children ran through the park and benches were dotted around here and there with people lounging on them to enjoy the warmth.

In the Suburban however, the temperature was fast approaching negative figures, and it wasn't due to the air-conditioning. Lisbon sat in the driver's seat as usual, and Jane had taken the daring step of sitting in the front seat next to her. Since their disagreement, on the two occasions that he'd travelled in the car with the team he'd always relegated himself to the back seat; not that he didn't want to be close to her, but more of a personal safety precaution. Lisbon had a tendency to get a little agitated when driving and if he were to do or say the wrong thing at a critical point, he felt sure if would find himself out of the car at the side of the road faster then Rigsby could devour a small doughnut. Being currently in her bad books didn't help either, and so he had given up 'his' seat to Cho and Rigsby respectively on each of those outings.

Today however, he was more than willing to risk bodily harm if it would get her to look at him again.

Not a word passed between them as they drove. The radio was off and the only sound other then the purring of the engine was Lisbon's fingers drumming on the gearshift as they overtook other cars.

Every twenty seconds or so, he flicked a sideways glance at her, hoping he might catch her sneaking a look at him too but she remained focused on the road, giving no sign that she even knew he existed let alone that he was sitting just inches away from her. After about ten minutes of this, Jane was forced to accept that she wasn't going to acknowledge him and with a heavy feeling settling on his chest, turned sulkily around to look out the side window.

* * *

They arrived at Sterling's house, parked, and Lisbon lead the way to the front door. She knocked, and while they waited for an answer, turned to Jane.

"Behave."

"Oh come on Lisbon, look at this face. How can you not trust this face?" he said, flashing her another grin.

She didn't return it. "I'm warning you, if you put one foot wrong in there…"

Before he could hear the rest of whatever threat she had coming, the door opened. The woman behind it was about Jane's height, with straggly brown hair carelessly pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked to be a little younger than her husband, in her mid-thirties perhaps, and it was apparent that she hadn't been expecting company, as she was in sweatpants, a tank top, and her face was free of makeup.

"Hello Mrs Sterling," Lisbon greeted her. "I'm sorry to intrude on you like this."

"Agent Lisbon," she said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"We just have a few follow-up questions for you, if that's all right. May we come in?"

"Yes of course." She stood aside to let Lisbon pass and seemed to notice Jane, who had been half-hidden behind her. Her eyes widened slightly, and she suddenly seemed to become very aware of her appearance, tugging at her clothes.

Jane held out his hand for her to shake. "Mrs Sterling, I'm Patrick Jane. I work with Agent Lisbon here."

"Nice to meet you," she said softly. "Sorry I'm such a mess. It's been hard to get used to Eric not being around." She gestured him into the house with a brave attempt at a smile.

"Perfectly understandable," he said, and she nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lisbon eyeing him suspiciously and so stepped away from Mrs Sterling who quickly showed them into the living room.

"How can I help you?" she asked them as they all sat down.

"Well, we were wondering if we could maybe go over the few days before your husband's disappearance one more time," said Lisbon.

"But I already told you and that other agent everything I know," she protested.

"I know, but sometimes it helps to revisit things, in case you missed anything before."

"I suppose that makes sense," she acquiesced.

"Take your time," said Jane. "Really think about it, and if anything pops up, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, tell us about it."

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes and Jane and Lisbon waited patiently for her to speak again.

"Did anything unusual happen?" Jane prompted gently, some minutes later. "Even something small might be a clue."

"I can't think of anything," she said, sounding as disappointed as they felt. She opened her eyes. "I wish I could be of more assistance."

"We appreciate your time, Mrs Sterling," said Lisbon as she and Jane rose from their seats. As they walked to the door, the mail slot opened and several envelopes fell onto the rug.

Nicole's eyes suddenly went the size of saucers, and she clapped a hand to her forehead. "There was a letter," she gasped. "The day before…it happened. Eric got a letter; handwritten with no return address and he wouldn't tell me what was in it. He was so paranoid about it he even took it into work with him that day. I thought it was strange at the time, but I didn't say anything because I figured… it would be OK." She dissolved into quiet sobs.

Lisbon grabbed for her cell-phone and dialled.

"Rigsby," she said when he answered. "Get down to the docks and see if you can find any letters in Sterling's locker with his personal effects."

She hung up the phone, without waiting for a reply.

"Come on," she said to Jane. "If we hurry we can be back at HQ at the same time as Rigsby."

Dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, Nicole got up to see them out.

"I really hope you find whoever did this to him," she said.

"We're certainly going to do our best," said Lisbon. "Thank you for your help."

Nicole blew her nose, loudly. "If there's anything else I can do, just let me know," she said.

* * *

Lisbon walked down the concrete steps and was halfway back to the car before she realised her consultant wasn't with her. She turned around to see him still engaged in conversation with Nicole. Sighing, she headed back over to him, fully prepared to drag him away by the ear if need be, but as she got closer she noticed Nicole didn't look upset.

"I'm sure your husband loved you very much," Jane was saying to her, and he reached out and lightly touched her arm. "I really am truly sorry for what you've lost."

To Lisbon's amazement, Nicole smiled. "Thank you Mr Jane. Have you lost someone too?"

Curiosity caused Lisbon to sneak a bit closer to the couple on the doorstep. Whenever people asked Jane that question, you could never be sure exactly what he would say. Sometimes he told the truth, and sometimes he lied.

"I know what's it like to build your life around somebody, and then have them taken from you," he said. "I know how it feels to know the person you love will be gone forever, and you'll never see them again. I know how much it hurts."

He deliberately used present tense in the second part of his statement in the vain hope that Lisbon, who he knew was listening nearby, might realize that he was referring not only to his wife, but also to her. It was a long shot to be sure, but he couldn't risk telling her anything directly about what was going on. The pictures Red John had taken of her still haunted the back of his mind. Red John was everywhere, and if he got even the slightest clue that Lisbon was onto him he would strike. Jane was sure of it.

So he was reduced to ambiguous comments and double entendres in the hope she would miraculously understand, but so far she had not. And why should she? Whenever he had spoken of pain before it had always been in relation to his wife and child; she had no reason to think that he should care for her even half as much as he had for them.

But he did. He loved her every bit as much as his beloved family, even though he felt guilty for even thinking it. The thought of her meeting the same fate as they had was unbearable; he'd already had his heart ripped out once, and he wasn't sure he could survive it a second time. And at the very least, they'd known how important they were to him, while his darling Lisbon hadn't the faintest idea.

Nicole wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry," she said. "Nobody should have to go through this."

"I know," he agreed. _"And especially not twice," _he added silently to himself.

* * *

In the car on the way back to headquarters, Lisbon was deep in thought. She'd been surprised how gentle Jane had been with Nicole, rather than poking and prodding like he normally did. He'd been sympathetic and kind, and hadn't pushed Nicole and made her upset. For once he'd heeded her words and behaved.

She wished that he would do the same every time she took him into the field with her. Without Jane's encouragement, she was sure Nicole would not have remembered the letter and they would be heading back now without any leads at all.

When they pulled up at a red light, she glanced at where he sat with eyes closed and his head against the window. While the visit to the Sterling's hadn't served to make her any less angry with him, perhaps there was hope for him yet.

* * *

Jane and Lisbon walked back into the bullpen to find the other three bent over something on Rigsby's desk.

"What did you find?" she asked them.

"Locker was full of stuff, couple of magazines, some food that looked like it had been in there a while," reported Van Pelt, crinkling her nose.

"Any letters?" asked Lisbon.

"Just one." Van Pelt held it up for them to see.

"Handwritten, no return address. Looks like this is the one," said Jane, taking it from her. He turned it over. "Shall we see what it says?"

Lisbon snatched the envelope from him. "_I'll _do it."

"Yes ma'am."

She opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. "Eric," she read. "You know that favour you owe me? Well I'm calling it in. Meet me at my place the day you get this, you know where it is. And don't get any ideas about bringing cops with you, or you'll regret it. T."

"T?" Rigsby repeated. "Well, that's a great help."

Lisbon sighed. Just for once, she'd really love it if the murderer would sign their full name, provide a current address and be wiling to give a full confession accompanied by irrefutable physical evidence. Why couldn't anything be simple? She dropped the letter onto the desk and rubbed her temples wearily. "How many employees at the docks with a first or last name beginning with T?"

Van Pelt returned to her desk. "I've got the employee list right here," she said. "Just let me refine the search."

A few clicks of the mouse and taps of the keyboard later she pulled in a deep breath.

"Two hundred and fifty people have a surname beginning with T."

"Great," said Lisbon. "And first names?"

"One hundred and seventy five."

"Okay, so that leaves us with four hundred and twenty-five possible suspects. Fantastic." She heaved another deep sigh. "All right, everybody onto their computers. Look for any possible connection with Sterling."

"Aw boss," Rigsby complained. "That's going to take all night. Can't we leave it until tomorrow? It's just I have a date tonight, it's with that swimsuit model that alibied Mashburn out on the case of that car saleswoman…"

"Oh stop whining, Rigsby," snapped Van Pelt. "We've all got places we'd rather be."

"What's yours, a night at home with a hot chocolate and repeats of _Sex And The City?_"

"Lay off guys," Cho advised them as Van Pelt opened her mouth to retort.

"Who asked you, Cho?" said Rigsby.

"Hey!" Lisbon shouted over the hubbub, and the three fell silent. "I don't know what part of my instructions you interpreted as a suggestion but if you're not on those computers in the next ten seconds you're all on desk duty for six months!"

Van Pelt turned her attention back to her screen and Cho and Rigsby both hastened to obey Lisbon's command.

* * *

Jane picked up the letter Lisbon had discarded.

"Perhaps I might be able to help," he offered.

"And how exactly do you propose to do that?" she said, in the same icy calm voice she'd been using on him all week.

"Well I think I can significantly narrow down the possibility list."

Still without emotion, and needless to say with no smile, she faced him. "I'm listening."

"Well the letter speaks of calling in a favour, so it's obviously someone Sterling feels indebted to."

"Well duh," she interjected coolly. "I don't need to be a mentalist to work that one out."

"Will you please allow me to finish before you start flinging out condescending remarks?" he requested.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but gestured for him to continue.

"Sterling spent a year behind bars, so the favour the letter mentions might apply to something someone did for him in prison. He was the type of guy who was happy to pick a fight or two so it stands to reason that he might cause a bit of trouble. If he had a buddy in there that backed him up when the going got tough, that'd make for a pretty strong debt. The letter also mentions not alerting the police so it's a fair bet to say our mysterious 'T' was planning something illegal, giving further credence to my theory that he might be of a criminal nature."

She nodded.

"The letter is dated a week ago, so that suggests that if it was someone he served with they've been recently released. I think you should refine your search to dock employees paroled or released from Pelican Bay in the past month." He grinned at her. "Now you may commence needling me."

He waited (hoped?) for the eye-roll or the flood of insults that he was sure was about to come but she surprised him when she did neither. She turned away from him, walked over to Cho and leaned over his shoulder, presumably giving him the new search parameters.

He smiled a little and decided it was time for a cup of tea. He was halfway to the kitchenette when he heard Cho's voice.

"Got a hit. Brian Tovis. Served five years at Pelican Bay for possession and supply charges, and he was released two weeks ago."

"OK that's a good start, but it's not enough to bring him in," said Lisbon. "We need more."

"Well how about this?" Rigsby chimed in. "According to prison records Tovis shared a cell with Sterling for three months before Sterling got out."

"So we can prove that they knew each other outside of the docks," Lisbon said and even though he was far across the room, Jane could tell she was biting her lip, in the unreasonably sexy way she sometimes did when in deep thought. "But how do we tie him to the murder?"

Silence fell but for the humming of computers and the soft thud as Cho put down his coffee cup on the desk.

"Rigsby?" said Lisbon a minute later. "You said he was in for possession and supply, right? What kind of stuff was he selling?"

Rigsby hit some keys.

"Mostly prescription medicines," he said. "But he also carried a few of the date-rape drugs. Says here Rohypnol, and…" He trailed off.

"Ketamine?" Lisbon suggested, and Rigsby nodded.

For the first time in days, Teresa Lisbon's face broke into a smile. "We've got him!" she said triumphantly. "All we have to do is get a warrant for his home which shouldn't be difficult due to his priors, and compare his handwriting to the letter so we can prove he wrote it, and he's ours."

* * *

Jane hid a smile as she said all this. He knew that tone. It was Lisbon's I'm-on-a-mission-and-woe-betide-anyone-who-gets-in-my-way tone, and he knew it was also accompanied by that determined gleam in her eyes. He waited for it…and ah yes, there it was. Suddenly those green eyes were no longer flat and expressionless but alive with life, just the way they'd always been, since the very day he and Lisbon had met. And they were beautiful.

He revelled in the sight as she started giving instructions to the team to call a judge for warrants for Tovis's house and work locker. Suddenly she was a warrior again, on the path for truth and justice.

It was only too bad it couldn't last. For while she made preparations to pick up Tovis, Jane too was working on a plan. The letter he still held in his hand was the only evidence supporting their theory. If something were to happen to it, the entire case would fall apart. Tovis would walk. Another strike against Lisbon, and one step closer to the end of her career.

He tried to ignore the guilt that threatened to consume him from the inside, and just to punish himself further, felt himself look back up at her. She was no longer smiling, but when she felt his gaze on her, gave a curt nod. It was the most acknowledgement he'd received in days.

As much as he didn't want to, he had to destroy the letter. For her. To keep her safe.

But not yet. He tucked it into his breast pocket. He would wait for the opportune moment.

* * *

**I know, I know. Just more introspective Jane but I had to get the case rolling along in this chapter. I really hate writing about the cases instead of the relationship stuff but unfortunately when the stars of your fic are crimefighters, it's gotta be done. For anyone thinking of jumping ship on this story please, please bear with me. In the next chapter, we get down to the good stuff!**


	7. Salvation

**Disclaimer: As if**

**Rating: T for language, violence and some themes**

**Enjoy!**

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* * *

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The sheets on Lisbon's bed were tangled and messy, and not for the fun reasons. She'd spent the last two hours tossing and turning, and still sleep eluded her. Tired though she was, her brain refused to stop thinking for long enough to let her drift off. It was far too busy wondering about what would happen tomorrow.

When they'd gotten all their warrants, Lisbon had been all for going to pick up Tovis right away, but Cho had pointed out that it was starting to get dark, and that it might be wiser to move on them in the morning, when everyone was a little more focused. By this stage, Rigsby had been not-so-subtly texting his date under the desk, Van Pelt was unsuccessfully trying not to notice, and Jane was fast asleep on the couch, blissfully oblivious to everything going on around him, even when Van Pelt eventually lost her patience with Rigsby and shrieked at him to "Just _call _her already!"

With two agents looking daggers at each other and a dead-to-the-world consultant, a frustrated Lisbon had been forced to accept Cho's sensible course of action, but had got her own back on her team for their non-co-operation by insisting they all report back to HQ at 5:30 the following morning. For a moment after she'd announced this, Rigsby looked like he might argue but after catching a glimpse of her stony expression, he quickly changed his mind.

When the three agents had departed, Lisbon retreated to her office, with the idea that if she caught up on a little paperwork the evening might not be a total waste. Two hours, two coffees and a broken pen later, she finally felt she could call it quits for the night without guilt. For some reason, her mind seemed to operate on the notion that if she hadn't practically run herself into the ground with exhaustion by the end of the day, she hadn't been working hard enough. She knew it was ridiculous, but ever since she'd been young her instinct was to drive herself almost to the point of collapse before she'd leave work unfinished. It was part of the reason she'd been able to keep her grades up through the tumult of losing her mother, her father and shouldering the responsibilities of a woman far beyond her years.

* * *

When she'd finally ventured out, it was to find Jane still on the couch, as deeply asleep as ever. Not for the first time, she wondered how such an angelic face could possibly belong to the person who had caused her so much pain and misery. Jane was a living testament to the old adage that one should never judge a book by its cover. She studied his features under the moonlight. Even when he slept, she got the feeling that he still was not truly at peace; perhaps it had to do with the utter stillness he adopted, save for the almost indiscernible rise and fall of his chest, you could be forgiven for wondering whether or not he were dead.

Of course, Lisbon counted herself as one of the few that knew him well enough not be deceived. In her eyes, he _was _dead. Not yet in the way most people understood it, but he was soulless and empty, with no desire for anything but revenge and no concern for anyone but himself.

He was a man who didn't live, but merely existed, like something out of a science-fiction story. He could mimic emotions and actions, and weave an elaborate web of lies to shut himself away from the world, but essentially he was like a machine built for a single purpose, and programmed to self-destruct when it was achieved.

In the past, she'd sometimes been foolish enough to think that she might be his salvation; that she'd somehow manage to reawaken the person he once had been and bring him back to the light.

She'd seen photos in his personnel file of his earlier life. His wife, his daughter, the people he had cherished above all others. The photo she remembered most clearly was a shot of the three of them on a beach. His wife embraced their daughter while Jane himself looked at them both with such love it seemed to reverberate out of the picture. There was not a trace of the shadows in his eyes that had been there as long as she'd known him, just pure happiness.

She'd wanted so badly to give that back to him, but now she knew it was beyond her power to give. He was damaged beyond repair, spiralling ever downward in self-loathing and hopelessness. She could see that now. And all she could do was try her best not to let him drag her down too.

Which brought her thoughts back to now, entangled in the sheets of her queen sized bed. Tomorrow was make or break for their case, for her team, for her career. Failure was not an option.

* * *

Jane's dreams were again haunted by the ghosts of his past. Red blood spattered across walls, shining silver blades of knives, heavy footsteps across a hardwood floor. The deafening applause of a studio audience, an unknown hand, encased in a kitchen glove, dripping with red, making a slow circle across the wall. Intermingled cries for mercy from all of Red John's many victims. But this time a new voice joined the foray. Lisbon's screams of agony became clear above all the others, as though they all became muted. When he finally felt he couldn't take it anymore, the terrible sound died away, only for him to hear her voice once more.

"_Why?"_ it whispered. _"You could have saved me, Patrick. Why didn't you?"_

He jerked awake, breathing heavily, as the first feeble rays of the dawn began to permeate the inky sky.

* * *

The four agents got out of the Suburban outside Brian Tovis' house, the sun having stubbornly refused to rise enough to completely obliterate the last vestiges of the night. Rigsby had a slightly despondent air about him, that Jane interpreted to mean that his date last night had gone badly. Van Pelt, well rested and fresh as a daisy, witnessed her ex-boyfriend's demeanour with just a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Cho surveyed the house in the way that only he could, noting every entrance and exit, every window and every door making sure to go in as prepared as possible. Lisbon shook her hair back from her face, and instinctually put her hand to her weapon, the warrior once more.

If she'd had her way, Jane knew he would not have been here at all. When he'd returned to the CBI after a flying visit to his apartment for a change of clothes, it was to find her ensconced in her office with Cho, having what seemed to be an intense discussion.

Fortunately, she hadn't quite closed the door, so by lurking carefully outside of it, he was able to get the gist of what they were saying.

"I can't afford to be worrying about him, Cho," she'd said. "We'll have enough to handle with Tovis as it is."

"I know boss," came Cho's calm, slow voice. "I'm not suggesting you let him in on the bust, I just think he has just as much of a right as we do to see the results of his work."

"Work?" she said incredulously. "He spouts off a few half-baked theories and you see it as work?"

"Has he ever lead us wrong before?"

There was a silence, and Jane had imagined Lisbon fixing Cho with one of her "I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that" looks.

A lesser man would have gone scrambling for the door at such a glare, but Kimball Cho was made of stronger stock then the average human.

"You know what I mean," Cho continued. "His methods are insane but his instincts are dead-on. And his instincts are why you keep him around."

Lisbon sighed.

"Look," said Cho after a minute. "It's your call. But he made the break, so in my book he deserves to be there when we take down Tovis."

Jane had just had time to get clear of the door before it opened, and Cho exited the office.

Five minutes later, Lisbon had grumpily emerged and told Jane he could come with them to serve the warrant, on the proviso he stayed in the car.

* * *

With the window rolled down, Jane could clearly hear Lisbon talking the team through the plan.

"Ideally I'd like to do this the old-fashioned way, kick down the door and catch the bastard by surprise, but we have to consider the possibility that Tovis might be expecting us. He's not stupid, he knew Sterling would be found eventually and given their history he knew he'd be a suspect. What we've got going for us is that he wouldn't have banked on us putting two and two together so quickly. Thanks to Jane-" Here she paused, and grimaced as though the words had left a sour taste in her mouth. "-We might be able to get him off-guard. Don't do anything stupid, and don't underestimate him. Van Pelt, you're with me. Cho, Rigsby, position yourselves outside so you can head him off if necessary. We make this quick and clean, with as little bloodshed as possible. Got it?"

She ended her spiel to nods from the other three.

"Jane," she said as an afterthought. "I have allowed you to be here as a mark of respect. Stay put, or so help me, I will use you for moving target practice…with a crossbow."

"I'm fairly sure those are illegal," he responded evenly.

"I know people," she said.

He shrugged.

Rolling her eyes, she faced her team. The barrel of her gun gleamed in the early morning light as she drew it from its holster.

"Let's do this."

* * *

It had been ten minutes since the rest of team had gone, leaving Jane on his own. Wherever Tovis was hiding in the house, they had to have found him by now. Time to make his move.

He got out of the car, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He stole up the front walk, looking left and right for any sign he might be found. The sound of crunching leaves spooked him enough to have him dive behind a clumsily pruned shrub. He peered through the branches to see Rigsby make a sharp turn and go back the way he had come.

Jane felt like the soldiers of ancient times trying to storm the enemy fortress, complete with the sentries scouting the perimeter and the fair maiden hidden inside.

He chuckled to himself. Fair maiden. She was a fair maiden indeed. He'd even called her that once. Not directly to her face, but she'd been present at the time, so that counted, right?

It seemed like an age ago now.

When he was sure that Rigsby was gone, Jane quickly made his way up the path and slipped through the front door.

He was in a dingy foyer with a few pieces of furniture each with it's own fine film of dust. That made sense. Brian Tovis hadn't struck him as the house-proud type.

From a room down the hall he heard Lisbon's voice, as well as Van Pelt's and a man who he sure would be Tovis. Following the sound, he found his way to the kitchen and concealed himself behind the doorframe.

* * *

Apparently, the two agents had surprised Tovis in the middle of eating his breakfast, as there was a steaming mug of coffee at his elbow and a few pieces of half-eaten toast on a chipped yellow plate.

"I'll tell you what," he was saying, stifling a yawn. "If the cops who arrested me for the possession charges had been as hot as you two, I wouldn't have made it nearly so hard on them."

"Thanks," said Lisbon with thinly veiled disgust, while Van Pelt just winced.

"Hey, it's a compliment!" he said, grinning from one to the other. "I'm just saying, two gorgeous women with guns and handcuffs…that's the dream."

"We'll leave the dreams alone for the time being," said Lisbon. "Let's talk about Eric Sterling."

"What about him?"

"He's dead," Van Pelt put in. "We found him in a fishing net in the Sacramento river."

"Yow. Tough break," said Tovis, taking a sip of coffee.

"But it wasn't drowning that killed him," said Lisbon as he put the mug back down again. "It was a drug overdose. Ketamine. Care to comment on that?"

"Why? Ketamine's not meth you know. It's pretty easy to get your hands on."

"And you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" said Lisbon.

"I know where you're going with this, Agent," said Tovis leering unpleasantly at her. "And you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm out of the game. Clean and sober since 2005."

"Oh really?" said Lisbon dubiously. "So that's not an empty bottle of Jack Daniels half-hidden behind that pot plant?"

Jane smirked to himself, and Tovis grinned also. "I relapse occasionally," was all he said. "Look I'm sorry about Ricky, but I really can't help you on this. So unless you ladies are up for a little game of cops and robbers-" He winked at Van Pelt. "-You'd best be on your way."

"I'm sorry Mr Tovis, but we can't do that," said Lisbon calmly. "We're going to have ask you to accompany us back to the CBI. We still have some more questions for you."

"I don't think so, Agent Lisbon. I have to be at work in an hour and it doesn't really look good for me if I'm late. Being an ex-con isn't really a glowing resume item."

"That wasn't a request Mr Tovis," said Lisbon, hand resting on her holster.

Finally, the grin slid off his face, only to be replaced by a grimace. "What are you going to do, force me?" His eyes met hers as though daring her to fight him.

Something told Jane that this was the moment to step in.

"I wouldn't do that, Brian," he said in a clear, carrying voice. "Agent Lisbon here is quite the little firecracker."

* * *

His sudden appearance had the desired effect. Both Van Pelt and Lisbon spun around to look, and quick as a flash, Tovis was off his chair and had Van Pelt who was closest, in a headlock. Her cry of surprise was muffled as his strong arm pressed on her windpipe. She struggled in vain against his grip, her resistance becoming less and less as he steadily cut off her air supply.

Lisbon drew her weapon and pointed it at Tovis' head. "Let her go," she commanded.

"Give me one good reason why I should," he said. "If I have a hostage then I hold all the cards. It'd have to be something pretty good to get me to trade off."

"I have an idea," said Jane.

Not daring to take her eyes from Tovis, Lisbon growled at him from the corner of her mouth. "Shut up, Jane."

"There's an item in my possession that I think would be of great value to you," Jane continued, disregarding her.

"I said shut up!" Lisbon repeated.

Tovis increased the pressure on Van Pelt's throat, causing her to splutter and gag. "Let him talk," he said to Lisbon. He cut his eyes to Jane. "Go on."

"What if I told you that I was carrying a piece of incriminating evidence against you?"

Tovis scoffed. "You're bluffing."

Jane grinned at him. "Am I?" From his pocket he pulled the letter.

Tovis' jaw dropped. "Recognize it?" asked Jane. "You should. You wrote it, after all."

"Jane, what the hell are you doing?" said Lisbon angrily. "Put that away right now!"

"You can't prove I wrote that," said Tovis, but Jane detected a slight twitch in his cheek that suggested he was uncomfortable.

"Oh can't I? You see this smudge just here? That's a fingerprint. All I have to do is run it, and we can prove you wrote it." It wasn't totally a lie. There was a fingerprint on the note, but Jane, just to add some authenticity, had added it ahead of time.

Van Pelt was beginning to turn red from the lack of oxygen.

"Here's my proposition," said Jane, pulling a cigarette lighter from his pocket. "Let Grace go, and I'll burn this letter right now. You won't be implicated in the murder of Eric Sterling."

"What?" Lisbon shrieked. "Jane, have you completely lost your mind?'

"You'll burn that?" Tovis said in disbelief. "If I let Little Agent Hottie go, you'll seriously burn that letter?"

Jane nodded.

"What kind of cop are you?"

"I'm not a cop."

"He's not a cop," said Lisbon at precisely the same moment.

Tovis turned puzzled eyes towards Jane.

"Consultant," he said. "So, Brian. What do you think of my very generous proposal?"

"I like it just fine, but your boss over there doesn't seem to agree with me."

Indeed, Lisbon seemed to be battling between the choices of holding her gun on Tovis or dropping it so she could beat the crap out of Jane. At the moment, it looked like the internal argument was fairly even-sided, but if this went on much longer, who knew what she would do? His Lisbon was volatile by nature and putting her under this much stress would only be pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He hated himself for what he was doing…but then an idea came to him. It was so repulsive, so twisted that he couldn't believe he was even considering it. But for what he was planning for Lisbon, it was perfect.

"Well," he said. "Why don't we make it easier on her then? Let's have Lisbon choose what to do."

The colour drained from Lisbon's face, and the hand holding her gun began to shake.

Tovis let out a laugh. "You are twisted, man!" he said, in a tone Jane recognised as admiration. "I like the way you think!"

"So we have a deal?" Jane asked.

"Hell yes we do," said Tovis.

"Excellent," said Jane.

* * *

Convincing Tovis had been easier than he thought, but now it was time for the real challenge. Gathering all his courage, he turned to Lisbon and to his horror, he thought he saw tears gathering in her eyes.

"OK Lisbon," he said, as gently as he could. "What's it to be? The letter or Grace?"

Van Pelt began to cough violently, almost as red as a beetroot now.

Lisbon's eyes were drawn to her agent, and Jane saw the first of the tears roll down her cheek.

"You'd better make a choice, Lisbon," said Jane, still in his gentle voice. "Grace is fading fast."

"Jane, don't make me do this," she begged him. "Please don't make me do this. Don't make me choose between my career and my team."

He forced himself not to answer, not to look into her eyes.

"Patrick…" she breathed. "Please."

The use of his given name hit him harder than anything else, even seeing her cry. Oh, how he wished he could stop. He was hurting her so badly, he was hurting himself too. He felt like he was being ripped apart, but he forced himself not to give in.

Van Pelt's eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in Tovis' arms.

"Burn it," Lisbon muttered.

"What?" asked Jane.

"I SAID BURN IT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" she roared.

Jane applied the lighter to the paper. It quickly caught alight, flames engulfing it in seconds so Jane had to drop it quickly to stop it from burning his fingers.

Tovis released Van Pelt, who collapsed onto the ground, not appearing to be breathing. As soon as she was clear, Lisbon turned her gun on him again. He took a step towards her.

There was an explosion of sound as a bullet ripped into Tovis' body, catching him in the leg. He too fell heavily to the ground.

The sound of the gunshots brought Cho and Rigsby running. "Are you guys OK?" Cho asked.

Wordlessly, Lisbon pointed to where Van Pelt lay. Anguish filled Rigsby's face as he took in the sight.

"Grace!" he shouted and raced to her side. He pressed his mouth to hers, trying to get her to breathe.

"Come on, baby," he begged her, pumping her chest. "Breathe for me."

He gave her another breath.

"Come on, Grace. You have to breathe. You can't leave me."

Another breath.

"Please. I love you."

All of a sudden, Van Pelt coughed, opened her eyes and took a deep, gasping breath.

Rigsby cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair.

"Oh God," he gasped in relief, gathering her to him. "Oh God, you're alive. I'm so sorry, baby. So, so sorry."

There was a metallic clicking as Cho snapped handcuffs on Tovis, Rigsby was still murmuring to Van Pelt, but Jane's eyes sought Lisbon. She was stood back against the wall, seemingly needing it to keep from falling to the ground herself. Her eyes met his and he saw pain, anger, and the deepest betrayal in them.

He reached for her hand, but she flinched away from him, and quickly disappeared out the door.

* * *

A pile of papers slammed onto Hightower's desk with a dull thud. The woman herself slammed her fist down on top of them. Even though the sound was muffled by the half a forest beneath it, Lisbon and Jane still recoiled.

"Do you know what this is?" she demanded of them. "Paperwork. Paperwork generated by yesterday's absolute _debacle_ of an operation!"

She began to pace back and forth on the far side of her desk.

"Where shall I start? Allowing one of your people to be seriously injured? Destroying a piece of critical evidence? Shooting a suspect without provocation?"

Lisbon's green eyes flicked back and forth, watching her superior's progress.

"What the _hell_ were you doing allowing this idiot into the house with you, Agent Lisbon?" Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. "I guess we can add gross negligence to your list of offences, hmm?"

Jane had to quash his instinct to defend Lisbon. None of this had been her fault, after all. It was all his doing, and now she was getting the blame for it.

"Do you have any explanation for your actions at all?" asked Hightower, looking from one to the other.

"No ma'am," said Lisbon.

Jane shook his head.

Hightower took several deep breaths, in an attempt to calm herself.

"Agent Lisbon, I'm sure you remember the three-strike system I implicated after the last incident."

Lisbon nodded.

"Ordinarily, this would be your second strike, but given the severity of this breach, I really have no other choice."

Jane braced himself for what was coming.

"I'm sorry Teresa, but I'm afraid I am henceforth terminating your employment with the California Bureau of Investigation. You have an hour to pack up your belongings and turn in your badge and gun. Once that hour has elapsed, security will escort you from the premises."

* * *

Jane couldn't bear to look at Lisbon as the words that he had both been hoping for, and dreaded, fell upon them. He felt her stiffen beside him, out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her fingers flex as if she were itching to clench them into a fist.

"I understand ma'am," said Lisbon, and Jane could tell she was fighting to keep her voice under control.

"I really am sorry Teresa," said Hightower. "I really hate having to do this."

Lisbon simply nodded and then stood up.

"If you'll excuse me ma'am," she said, somehow managing to keep her tone polite. "I should go. I have a few things to take care of."

"Of course."

Jane and Hightower both watched as Lisbon walked straight-backed towards the door.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself, Patrick," said Hightower, once it had closed. "Agent Lisbon was the only friend you had around here. I hope the fun was worth it."

Jane looked back at her, unsmiling. He thought of Red John and of Lisbon. How she could now be safe.

"It was worth it."

* * *

Lisbon felt nothing as she packed away her things into the standard-issue cardboard box. Her merit certificates. The baseball in the case. The pencil she'd once thrown at Jane. She snapped that one in half.

One by one, members of her team came in to hear how her meeting had gone. She told each one of them in the same flat, monotone voice. Each had reacted in a different way. Van Pelt had cried. Rigsby had roared with anger. Cho had been the most surprising. He had laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, boss," he said.

"Do you want me to murder him?" he offered. "It was my fault that he was even there, I'll beat him to a pulp."

She chuckled. "Don't be stupid."

"What do you want me to do then?" he enquired.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

"Take care of them."

"I will."

* * *

Lisbon stood in front of the elevator, eyes fixed on the changing numbers on the panel, ignoring the curious stares of all the other agents, and the whispers as the news was spread around.

Then _he_ came. The one person she least wanted to see at that moment. He approached her cautiously, and well he might, her self-control was extremely tenuous at present.

"Lisbon, I'm so sorry."

She ignored him.

"I mean it. I never wanted this to happen."

She said nothing.

In desperation, he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. There was a collective gasp from the watching crowd.

"I didn't want to. I had to. One day you'll understand. It was all for you, I swear it was."

Blankly, she looked back at him, green eyes dead again, like the last few days.

"Please Teresa," he begged her, hoping her first name would have the same effect on her as it did on him. "Listen to me. I didn't have a choice. Please."

The elevator pinged, and she stepped back, out of his grasp as the doors opened. Slowly, very slowly, she put down the box she was carrying.

She reached up and he flinched, but she merely ran a hand gently down his cheek. To his amazement, she smiled.

"You know," she said softly. "There's always been something I've wanted to do, and now that I'm fired, I guess I can."

She moved towards him, soon so close, he could've counted the freckles on her nose. Their lips half an inch apart, their eyes locked together. He could feel her breath.

The next thing he knew was a stinging blow to his left cheek. She had slapped him, with all the strength she could muster. He fancied that she had put seven year's worth of hurt, resentment, anger, frustration, sadness, betrayal and heartbreak behind that slap. No wonder it hurt so much.

"Go to hell, Jane" she whispered.

She stepped into the elevator and was lost from view.

* * *

**This chapter was written in 6 and a half hours non-stop typing. Once I started I just couldn't stop.**

**I'm quite proud of this chapter, it's been my favourite to write so far. **

**I really hope you enjoyed it too.**


	8. After The Separation

**Disclaimer: Last time I looked, it wasn't mine and a hundred bucks says it won't be the next time I look either. Isn't that annoying how that happens?**

**Rating: T for language, sexual references, and implied assault.**

**On with the show.**

* * *

Jane examined his face in the bathroom mirror. Though the sting itself had mercifully faded, the angry red mark that Lisbon's slap had delivered stood out plain as day. In fact, he rather thought it looked worse this morning than it had twelve hours ago, when the blow had landed.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky. Lisbon had shown remarkable restraint in only striking him once. He knew she had been more than capable and really in the mood to break several of his bones if she wanted to. Anyone in her position would have been well within their rights to let their frustrations out onto him, the one who had caused them such misery. But she had simply stepped into the elevator, and left.

In his mind, her parting words to him were on constant repeat, as if someone had recorded them and stored them in his head. He could remember every detail, her pitch, her tone, the way her eyes had flashed slightly when she'd said the word 'hell.' It was like she was haunting him, another ghost, even though she wasn't dead. And nor would she be in the foreseeable future, for he had done the deed Red John had requested. It had damn near destroyed him, but he had done it.

To his dying day he would never forgive himself for what he had put her through, and he swore she would never know the true reason for what he had done. She could never discover that he had acted not out of spite, but out of mercy. He owed it to her to let her think the worst of him. She deserved the right to despise him for the rest of her life, never knowing the truth. It would make it easier for her. He loved her enough to accept that her peace of mind was the only thing that mattered now. Truth or lies were irrelevant.

He blew out a sigh. Today he would have to face the rest of the team, from whom he had cruelly robbed a leader, a confidante, a friend. What would they say? What would they do?

He found that it didn't much concern him. There was no possible way that Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt could find to punish him that could be worse than the way he was punishing himself. He made himself think of everything he loved about her, her hair, her eyes, her laugh. He tortured himself with memories of what he had given up, and just to complete the effect, he relived some of their final moments together. Her gentle caress, her sweet smile, his own stupid, albeit fleeting, notion that she might not have been angry with him. The way she had quickly put an end to any such thoughts by slapping him. He cast his mind back further. The emeralds, the pony, their first slow dance, the way she had fit so perfectly against him it might have been designed by the gods. The way he had tried so hard not to notice that she was just the right height for him to lean down to kiss her.

He was like an addict trying to suddenly quit cold turkey, and she was his drug of choice. Just as some people craved alcohol or hallucinogens, so he craved her, his 'Lisbon fix.' He had thought of nothing and no one else since they had parted, he was consumed by her. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she all right? Could she ever_ b_e all right again, after what he'd done to her?

* * *

The clock radio on Lisbon's bedside table burst to life, dragging her back into consciousness to the strains of some ridiculous pop song. With the practised ease of a person who was often abruptly roused from deep sleep by phone calls and the like, she immediately threw back the covers and let her feet hit the floor. Time for work.

It wasn't until she was halfway to the closet that she remembered.

All of a sudden, it all came flooding back to her. The scene at Tovis', the letter engulfed by flames, Rigsby desperately trying to revive Van Pelt, Hightower firing her, cleaning out her desk, handing in her badge and gun, Jane chasing after her. The way she'd driven home in a trance, the shock of losing her career still not having fully sunk in.

The way she'd not even turned the lights on when she arrived home, preferring the pitch darkness, how she'd spent hours huddled on the couch with two men who had never let her down, Ben and Jerry. How she'd set the alarm out of habit when she'd finally gone to bed.

For the time in years, Teresa Lisbon was unemployed. Her career in tatters, the rest of her life probably not that far behind. There was only thing to do.

She went back to bed.

* * *

Jane arrived at the office and it seemed like the eye of every person he passed was trained on him. Apparently, what had transpired by the elevator yesterday was now common knowledge to the whole building. It would soon become the stuff of CBI legend.

He was pleased to have the elevator to himself, a brief respite from the accusatory stares of his colleagues, and all too soon he arrived at the right floor.

Predictably, all the other agents turned to look as he proceeded over to Serious Crimes. He kept his gaze set straight ahead and took great care not to make eye contact with anyone, for fear of opening up a conversation he really wasn't interested in having today, or any day for that matter. Getting into the whys and hows of the mess he had made with Lisbon wasn't going to solve anything after all.

The three remaining members of the team were already at their desks when Jane arrived. Van Pelt was the first to notice his approach. Rather then the little smile he had gotten most days, she simply nodded at him.

"How are you feeling today, Grace?" he asked, more out of politeness then genuine curiosity.

"Better."

When she spoke, Rigsby looked up and shot her a sidelong glance. Ordinarily, Jane would have been curious to know what had happened after the tender scene he and the others had witnessed in Tovis' kitchen. It had brought into sharp relief that whatever they might say, the young couple were still very much in love with each other and that the fear of losing their jobs was the only thing keeping them apart.

On any other day, Jane would have spent hours taunting and ribbing them both until such time as Lisbon told him to quit it. But even as she did he would see her working hard not to smile at his antics, causing him to shift his focus to her instead. How many days had he spent by her side gently teasing her about anything from her coffee addiction to her outfit, and laughing to himself as she lashed back at him?

The deepening of the crease in Cho's forehead was the only sign he was aware of Jane's presence for he didn't even glance up. Jane was unsurprised by this, as he had always known Cho's allegiance to lie with Lisbon but he found he did feel a slight pang at the loss. Cho may not have been the most affectionate of friends but he'd always been there to back him up if he needed it. After all, it was thanks to Cho that Jane had been present at Tovis' yesterday. He'd always been good with that kind of thing.

The elevator pinged and Jane turned in spite of himself to look. For a moment, he was truly expecting Lisbon to step out of it, shaking her dark hair back, clutching a wad of paperwork in one hand and her cell phone in the other, demanding to know what the hell they were all doing, sitting around when there was work to be done.

He'd almost convinced himself that it really _was_ her when the doors opened to reveal one of the maintenance men, coming to fix the malfunctioning coffeemaker in the kitchenette.

Cursing his own stupidity, he turned away from it and collapsed gloomily on his couch. None of the others took any notice of him as he put on the usual act of falling asleep. And so the four members of the Serious Crimes team passed the morning in total silence. As hard as he tried, Jane couldn't even bring himself to care. What did it matter if the team was still able to work well and function efficiently? Without Lisbon, the team felt incomplete, like a jigsaw with a missing piece. The whole dynamic had changed. The others kept busy with other tasks, while he "slept."

Work without Lisbon. Seriously, what was even the point?

* * *

It was well after two when Lisbon finally mustered up the motivation to get up again and that was only because she was so hungry she thought might pass out if she didn't eat soon. She shrugged into a red satin dressing gown and wandered into the kitchen.

The state of both her refrigerator and kitchen cupboard being perilously close to empty didn't offer the most inspiring variety of choices, but she was able to scrounge up enough to make herself a sandwich. She'd been neglecting the grocery shopping lately, having been so busy with the Sterling case that she'd barely been home.

Plenty of time for that now, she thought bitterly to herself.

She stood at the counter with her lunch and a glass of iced water, only to come across the box of things from her office that she'd dumped there the night before. Thinking it could hardly make her feel worse; she dug through it as she ate to see if there was anything worth keeping. She rescued a few photographs and the baseball. Her merit certificates ended up being stuffed in the bottom drawer of her bedroom; she hadn't quite had the heart to throw them out, but that didn't mean she wanted to look at them all the time and be reminded of what she had lost. The tequila she'd kept hidden at work she put at the side of the sink.

The rest of the box was upended over an open garbage bag, which she tied closed and hauled outside the front door to be collected the next day. It was all useless now.

She took the empty box, meaning to put it with the rest of the recycling, but saw something white trapped in the joins. She pulled it out. It was the little origami frog Jane had made her so long ago that had scared the life out of her when it had leapt forward without warning. She turned it over and over in her fingers, wondering once again how he had made it.

She heard their conversation in her head as if it had been yesterday.

"_Don't even start. I'm still angry."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_No you're not."_

_He placed something on the desk in front of her and then walked away._

"_A frog? Well this just makes everything better doesn't it?"_

She'd kept the little paper creature because it had made her smile. It had lived in the top drawer, carefully tucked away under some books so prying eyes (i.e. Jane) wouldn't find it there.

But now it was a painful reminder of the man who had betrayed her. If there was any doubt in her mind that he cared nothing for her, never had and never would, the events of yesterday had taken good care of that. If he'd had even the tiniest shred of concern for her, he'd never have done what he did. Not only was it cruel, it was pointless.

What could he have possibly hoped to gain by getting her fired? Surely he knew that had she not taken the hits for him for all these years, he would have been thrown out of the CBI long before this. He'd used her as a human shield, deflecting the fallout from his ludicrous behaviour for so long, and now he knew he was safe from retribution, he'd cast her aside as easily as if he were flicking a piece of lint from his suit.

Well, if he was going to cut her out of his world, she would do the same. She rummaged around in the kitchen drawer for a minute, until she finally found what she was looking for: matches.

She struck one, and heard the sizzling sound as it caught. She'd been able to do nothing but watch in horror as her career had literally gone up in flames. It seemed fitting that her turbulent rollercoaster-ride of a relationship with Patrick Jane should go out in the same way.

She placed the frog in the sink almost reverently, and then dropped the match onto it. The paper ignited quickly, the flames reducing it to nothing more than blackened ashes within seconds. She turned on the tap to put it out, and the pressure sent the remains of the frog swirling down the drain.

Once all the mess had been washed away, she turned off the water and reached for the tequila. She poured herself a glass, and then held it up, as if toasting herself.

As of now, she was going to start being OK.

* * *

Jane hadn't thought that there was enough room left inside him to miss another person so much. It honestly felt like he was mourning another death, from the icy stab of pain that resulted every time his eyes involuntarily strayed to her empty office. And that happened a lot.

Today was day four of this unpleasant change in working conditions. In most sections of the CBI, life went on like Teresa Lisbon never existed. The gossip over the incident had long since died down, eclipsed by the scandal of Anthony Burgess from Narcotics being discovered in the supply closet in a passionate clinch with Selena Carney from the mailroom, a tryst made all the more salacious by the fact that they were both married.

However if the attitude towards Jane in the Serious Crimes had been a little nippy before, it now was positively glacial. He could count on his fingers the amount of times the others had spoken to him directly and if they had to talk about him they called him 'the consultant.'

Click. Click. Click. The sound of stiletto heels on the tiled floor heralded the arrival of Hightower. Jane immediately pretended to be asleep, not in the mood to get into yet another discussion about his professional conduct. He'd never appreciated before how much of the flack Lisbon had defused for him until now, when he was fighting the battles for himself.

But today, it seemed Hightower was not here for him as instead of walking toward the couch, she made a beeline for Cho's desk. Jane cracked an eye open to watch her progress. Rigsby and Van Pelt were less subtle, abandoning their paperwork and turning their heads towards the action.

Cho steadfastly ignored Hightower's approach and refused to acknowledge her when she cleared her throat several times to announce her presence. This continued for a minute or two, until Hightower wisely chose to concede defeat. When it came to the silent standoff, Cho was the unquestionable master.

"Agent Cho?" she enquired.

"What?"

"Can we have a word?"

Cho turned a page of the file he was skimming, still not making eye contact. "Go ahead."

"I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private," she said inclining her head towards the empty office.

"Here will do," said Cho, thereby settling the matter.

Sighing, Hightower sat in the chair opposite Cho's.

"This unit has been through a lot over the last few days. Losing Agent Lisbon has affected you all, and I just want to express how sorry I am that had to happen."

She waited for a response, but received none. She went on.

"Unfortunately, Lisbon's departure has left Serious Crimes without an agent in charge and I want to fill that position as soon as possible."

"So what do you want from me?" said Cho. "A list of recommendations?"

"No," she said. "I was hoping you might consider taking up the job."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other three as Cho finally lifted his gaze to meet Hightower's.

"No," he said flatly.

Hightower held up a hand. "You should think carefully about this before you make a decision. It's a fantastic opportunity."

"How do you figure?"

She leaned forward. "Look, Agent Lisbon always made it clear that if anything were to happen to her, she wanted you to take over. You are the most senior agent in the unit and she trusted you implicitly. Given the turmoil this whole business has caused, I don't think introducing a new agent would be at all beneficial to this unit. Things will be easier with someone they know in charge."

Cho closed his book with a snap. "OK, I've thought about it. Answer's still no."

A flicker of annoyance appeared on Hightower's face as she was shot down a second time.

"Come on Agent Cho," she pressed. "You'll get a promotion, a raise, _and _you'll get your own office." She pointed over at the empty room.

Cho got up from his seat and walked over to it. He paused by the glass door, which still bore the words 'Teresa Lisbon. Senior Agent." He pointed at the white letters.

"Do you see what that says?" he asked Hightower.

"Oh don't worry about that," she said airily. "I'll just have them get a new door with your name on it. That's easy."

He shook his head. "Not what I meant, and you know it. My point is, this is still Agent Lisbon's team and I have no right to be leading it."

"She's been fired!" said Hightower, irritably.

"Which was bullshit," said Cho boldly. "There's only one person who should've been fired over this mess and it sure as hell isn't Lisbon." He gave Jane a hard look.

"But she would've wanted you to," protested Hightower. "In your personnel file she's often commented on your fine leadership qualities-"

"To lead my own team," Cho cut in. "Not to pull hers out from under her. Lisbon is one of the finest agents I have ever worked beside, and I will not do anything to undermine her. Once again, my answer is no. I'll take point for a couple of weeks until you find a replacement, but that's it."

Hightower took a deep breath. "Fine," she said. "If that's your decision, I'll start interviewing candidates."

Cho nodded, and returned to his chair.

"You should've taken it man," said Rigsby, after Hightower had gone. "Better you then some jackass chosen by Hightower who you can bet wouldn't have the first idea how to handle _him"._

"What and you think I do?" said Cho. "I persuaded her to bring him with us to Tovis' and as a result she no longer has a job. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that I can't handle him either."

"Lisbon was the only one who even came close," said Van Pelt.

"Yes," said Cho. "And now she's gone."

As one, the three agents turned their heads towards Jane who quickly pretended to be asleep again.

"Bastard," he heard Rigsby growl quietly. "He doesn't even care."

An angry retort was on the tip of Jane's tongue, but he bit it back. He'd known this was coming. It was inevitable that the team would turn on him, but he was surprised to discover that losing them was almost as painful as losing Lisbon.

Almost.

* * *

Lisbon's feet beat a steady rhythm on the pavement as she jogged down the street. She focused on keeping a good pace and her breathing even. There was one good thing about all this sudden freedom; it gave her plenty of time to exercise. A good workout had always helped to clear her head, (well that and shooting things, but she figured her access to the CBI firing range had probably been revoked) so she had turned to long, hard runs around the neighbourhood, pushing herself until she was literally ready to drop, before returning home aching all over.

She knew if she carried on like this, muscle soreness would be the least of her worries, but she craved the wonderful sensation of not thinking that it gave her. It stopped her from wondering about what was going on at the CBI. Were Rigsby and Van Pelt back together yet? Had Cho been given leadership of Serious Crimes? She missed them all more than she cared to admit, and once or twice had considered the possibility of calling, just to see how they were doing.

Most importantly, the running drowned out thoughts of Jane, who despite her best efforts, had an irritating habit of popping into her mind on an alarmingly regular basis, like this morning when she'd been watching a cable chat show, and someone had said the word 'irksome.' Or yesterday afternoon, when she saw a silver sports car racing down the street and remembered the time he'd whisked her off for lunch in one just like it, smashing the speed limit to smithereens on the way.

The sun was just beginning to slip below the horizon, but still she pressed on, dodging around the usual crowd of evening dog-walkers and occasionally passing the odd other runner, more often then not plugged into their iPods. Lisbon had always personally disliked playing music while she ran, preferring to listen to the sounds of the city, the rushing sound of traffic, the whispering of the wind through the trees that lined the sidewalk.

On and on, she ran until the sun had disappeared completely and darkness had truly fallen. The first few stars had come out when she finally got back to her apartment, fumbling in her pockets for her keys. It wasn't until she found them and separated the right one that she noticed the mat at the front door was slightly crooked. Instinctually, her hand moved to the empty spot at her hip that should have held her gun. There was nowhere she could hide one in her running gear.

Her mind told her she was being paranoid, but years of police work had honed her senses to distrust anything out of place. Her heart began to beat rapidly. Someone was in her apartment. But who? Perhaps the super had let himself in to fix that leaking tap she'd told him about nearly three months ago. She doubted it. Perhaps it was Jane; with his talent for locks and disregard for personal property he could easily have broken in. But she didn't think that was likely either. He would never have been careless enough to leave such an obvious clue to his presence. It would put her on her guard, and inevitably spoil the fun of jumping out at her from whatever dark corner he had ingeniously concealed himself in. And anyway, why would he be here?

There was only one way to find out. Pre-firing Lisbon would have already had her Glock out and kicked the door in by now, but post-firing Lisbon was in the alien situation of having no weapon at her disposal. Without the comforting weight of her gun in her hand, she found she was a little more hesitant to launch herself into possible danger.

What should she do? A normal person would call the police in such a situation, but Teresa Lisbon was anything but the average woman. She hated the insecurity she was feeling. She'd been in law enforcement for over a decade, damn it! She should be more than capable of handling this herself.

Maybe it was because she was so tired, maybe it was on account of her wounded pride but she found herself pushing open the door and stealthily creeping inside. All her training had absolutely forbidden anybody to enter a potentially dangerous building unarmed and without backup, but with the adrenaline pumping and her own daring nature taking charge, she conveniently forgot everything that had been drilled into her at all those retreats and seminars.

Silently as a cat, she crept over to the couch and felt between the cushions until she found the barrel of one of the three off-duty weapons she kept concealed around her apartment. She'd always known they'd come in handy someday.

As she carefully searched her apartment room by room, she felt more alive than she had in days. To be doing what she loved again acted on her like a stimulant. She even caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror to see that she was smiling, so happy was she to be living out her passion. Fighting crime, standing up for truth and justice was all she had ever wanted out of life and she simply couldn't imagine doing anything else.

The apartment was empty. She had ended up in her bedroom to find nothing amiss. Satisfied, she set the gun down on the bedside table.

Then, a cracking blow to her head, and darkness.

* * *

Red John watched as Teresa Lisbon fell sideways, as if in slow motion and landed heavily on the bed, unconscious before she had even had realized what had happened to her.

Poor Teresa. Catching her had been far too easy. All it had taken was to follow her for a couple of days (from a discreet distance of course) and learn her habits. A tiny move of the mat and she had been like a moth to the flame. The policewoman in her had been just too strong, as he had known it would be. Totally focused on her fruitless search, she hadn't had the slightest clue that he had been sneaking up behind her. He'd had to exercise patience as well as caution, if he struck too early, it would mean the end for him. He'd heard enough about her to know that the woman was positively lethal with a gun in her hand, so all he'd needed to do was wait until she felt safe enough to put it down.

There was blood trickling down her forehead from where he'd hit her with a heavy ornament taken from the shelves near the front door. It was a shame to mar her pretty face with the red liquid but unfortunately it couldn't be helped. He didn't want her wasting all her strength trying to fight him off; she'd be needing it later.

He gently took one of her wrists in his gloved hands. A strong pulse. He hadn't expected anything less from a warrior like herself. And though her tenacity was nothing short of legendary, now he was finally seeing her up close, he wondered why it was so little mentioned of how beautiful she was.

So very beautiful. He reached over to a few strands of hair that had settled over her face and tucked them behind her ear. And he didn't stop there. He let his fingers run down the length of her face and down her neck. Across her collarbone, drifting tantalizingly close to the scoop neck of her tank top, feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath.

How easy it would be to kill her now. Quiet and uninterrupted, he could take his time, meticulously select every slash of the knife blade. Make it slow, painful, make her beg for death and then once he'd had his fun, grant her wish.

But as much as he wanted to, he could not. He had made a promise after all. And he prided himself on being a man of his word. Teresa Lisbon would not die by his hand.

He had other plans for her.

He bent down and as gently as he could, rolled her over. As he did, her cross necklace caught the moonlight streaming through the window, giving it an ethereal glow. He took hold of it and gently turned it around until the clasp was visible. He undid the clasp, and the chain slid fluidly from around her neck. He carefully wound it around itself and placed it in his pocket. She wouldn't have any use for it now, after all.

Next, he slid his hands under her knees and shoulders and slowly lifted, until he held her in the manner that a father might carry a sleeping child. She stirred a little at the movement, but her eyes stayed closed.

Through the darkened apartment, Red John carried his precious cargo, careful not to jostle her, for fear she would wake. Before he walked out the door he looked left and right, for any sign of an interruption. Seeing none, he made his careful way out of the apartment, and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Two Days Later

Jane made his way back from the tearoom, balancing his mid-morning cup of tea in one hand, with a few biscuits perched precariously on the saucer. He saw Cho sitting as his desk, riffling through a pile of mail.

Thus far, the search for Lisbon's replacement was not going well. Jane suspected that Hightower was deliberately holding off in case Cho changed his mind. He knew that to be a fool's errand. Once Cho made up his mind about something, he was more stubborn than Lisbon, and that was certainly saying something.

With each passing day, he was missing her more and more, but he had since developed a way of making it manageable. Every time he caught himself feeling sad, he made himself think about the long, happy life she had ahead of her, thanks to him. He imagined her playing a game of baseball with her brothers and their families, or dancing with that Spice Girls CD on at top volume, or walking down a church aisle in a white dress…on second thoughts, he wasn't quite ready to tackle that last one just yet. Stupidly, he still carried a hope inside that he might one day have her as his partner, his lover, perhaps even his wife.

Unrealistic to be sure, but it gave him hope. And these days, he needed as much of that as he could get.

Over at his desk, Cho made a small noise of disgust as he unearthed a blue jewellery box, tied with gold ribbon, from within the pile of paper. The box had an envelope attached to it, and he read the address with disinterest. He scowled.

"Looks like you've got a secret admirer Jane."

"What?" asked Jane, in surprise.

Cho held up the little box. "This is addressed to you."

"Get out of here."

Without warning, Cho threw the box; it landed neatly on the couch while the letter detached itself and fluttered to the floor a few feet away.

"See for yourself," he said and turned back to the rest of the mail.

Curiously, Jane put down his teacup and saucer and went to retrieve it.

_Mr. Patrick Jane, Serious Crimes Unit, CBI Headquarters, Sacramento, CA_

The first thing he noticed was that the letter was missing a postage stamp. It had been hand-delivered from someone in the CBI. A light-bulb came on in his head. Now that he thought about it, Kym from the front desk had been twirling her hair in his direction a little more than usual lately. She was the impulsive, romantic type who he would bet good money would get a kick out of sending trinkets to men in which she had a romantic interest. And she could easily slip a letter into the trolley when it came up from the mailroom. It was rolled right past the front desk.

Sighing, he ripped it open. A romantic entanglement was definitely something he didn't need right now, but there could be no harm in reading it right? It might be good for a laugh.

He unfolded it, and his insides felt like they had turned to solid ice.

_Mr Jane,_

_As I understand it, you have been successful in your task. I offer you my sincere congratulations. Very well done. I would have come to congratulate you myself, but I find myself entertaining at present and it would be very rude of a host to abandon his guest._

_If you have not already done so, please now open the box that came with this letter._

Wary of arousing suspicion, Jane slowly ambled over to the couch, even though every instinct told him to sprint at full speed. Once he had settled himself on it as usual, he seized up the little box.

With shaking hands, he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

On a little bed of cotton lay a cross necklace. He knew it at once to be Lisbon's. How many times had he looked at it, captivated by the way it sparkled, and distracting his eyes from points…further south.

But wait, it didn't shine the way it used to. It was tarnished somehow, by some sort of sticky substance. He lifted it out of the box by it's chain and felt sick to his stomach as he realized what was covering it. Blood.

He grabbed the letter again, to read the rest of it.

_Now I'm sure you know the identity of my guest, so there's no need to spell it out for you is there? And yes, that is her blood on it._

_She's a real gem, Patrick. You've been so selfish, keeping her all to yourself. I should really do the same, give you a taste of your own medicine, but I'm not going to do that._

_I gave you my word that I would not kill her, and I stand by that. But if she wastes away from thirst and starvation…well I really can't be held accountable for that, can I?_

_If I were you, I would make it my sole purpose to find her._

_Come meet me at the place where it all began, and your sweet Teresa may yet survive._

_She's waiting for you, Patrick. I suggest that you hurry. The green fire is slowly going out._

Jane felt his whole body being gripped by panic. He felt himself beginning to hyperventilate as the horrible truth sunk in. Red John had Lisbon. And Lisbon was injured. She was dying.

And her time was running out.

* * *

**A/N I have no idea if there are really trees on the sidewalks in Sacramento. For stuff like that I claim poetic licence.**

**I'm being rather nasty to Lisbon aren't I? *****dodges rotten tomatoes thrown by Lisbon fans***** I've been rereading this fic and I noticed that I've thrown a lot of crap at her, and Jane too. Hopefully, I can cut them a break at some point. We'll have to wait and see.**

**The weird thing about this chapter is that writing the first half was like pulling teeth, but the second just kind of flowed. I'm reasonably happy with it, and I hope you guys are OK with where the story is heading.**


	9. Hide And Seek

**Next chapter is here (at last!) The only advantage to having the flu is it freed up lots of time to finish writing this.**

**Rating: T as usual.**

**Disclaimer: I'd love for it to be mine, but sadly, it ain't.**

* * *

It was like Jane's world had fallen suddenly from it's axis, spinning round and round faster than it ever had before. His vision started to cloud; he continued to take rapid, shallow breaths as the fear took hold. Sounds of the office, of ringing telephones and whirring fax machines all mingled together to form a dull roar of background noise to the sound of his own heart, which was beating so quickly, one could practically tap-dance to it.

It was fortunate that he was already lying down, as he figured he would have collapsed anyway purely due to the stress brought on by what he had just read. Fortunate too that Van Pelt and Rigsby were out to lunch and Cho still engrossed in his correspondence, as it meant nobody else was around to bear witness to his minor psychotic break.

In this haze of terror, he was able to have a single rational thought: He needed to get a grip on himself. He could hardly help her if he found himself committed again. She would be at Red John's mercy for God only knew how long, and even if Jane managed to tell someone, they would not believe him. For who ever took the crazy guy seriously?

Drawing on his hypnotism skills, he forced himself to calm down, drawing in long, deep breaths and feeling his pulse slowing down until it found its usual steady rhythm. He closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten and by the time he had finished, he felt like he was able to have some kind of control over himself again.

He looked at the letter again, even though he felt like the words would be etched into his skull until the end of time. Here and there, phrases jumped out at him and jumbled themselves up in his head. _"My sincere congratulations…I find myself entertaining a guest at present…That is her blood on it…she's a real gem."_

One phrase in particular kept presenting itself to the forefront of his thoughts. _"Come meet me at the place where it all began." _He got the impression that Red John was giving him a clue, but he didn't have the faintest idea what that might mean. What place? Where what had all began? No matter how many times he read it or thought it, he came no closer to understanding. And in the back of his mind he knew that with every moment he delayed, Lisbon was in danger. He fought back the nausea as he thought of the blood on her necklace. He could already be too late. Red John had mentioned she hadn't eaten or drunk anything for a while, and it was obvious she had sustained some kind of injury, probably when he had taken her, hence the blood. Both of these factors combined would serve to weaken her, and if she gave up the resolve to fight on, death could come swiftly.

How stupid he had been to actually consent to this arrangement in the first place. He had been so blinded by his fear for her; he hadn't properly considered the possible repercussions of making this "deal with the devil." He had assumed that when she'd been thrown out of the CBI Red John's interest in her would be gone, but it was evident that the serial killer knew Lisbon meant far, far more to Jane than just a colleague. By trying to protect her, Jane had unknowingly made her into the bait Red John would use to draw him into a trap. The fact that she had little social life meant that it was possible nobody yet knew she was missing. Just because Red John had chosen to alert him today meant nothing. Red John could've taken her anytime between now and the day she had been fired…potentially a full week, and here he'd been, blissfully oblivious, worrying about trivialities like who was going to take over her job now and office romances.

She could be dead already for all he knew, for that blood was by no means fresh. There was no guarantee that when he eventually found her, he would not be forced to yet again look upon the lifeless body of someone he loved. He could visualize the scene, ripped straight from his nightmares, of her eyes, open but empty, the glistening smiley face on the wall (for after she was dead, what was to stop Red John from cutting her up the way he usually did?), her skin still warm to the touch (for in his nightmares he was always only seconds too late to save her.)

No. He couldn't go through that again. He couldn't sit in the room for hours and sob, and when the police arrived, have them discover him clutching the bloodied body of the woman who was now his whole world. He'd done that once. He'd walked through hell and somehow come out the other side, but that was a journey that nobody took twice.

It was all one long, horrific nightmare that he hadn't been able to wake up from for seven long years, ever since the beginning, when he'd arrived home that fateful night.

It was a good thirty seconds before it hit him. The beginning. Could that have been what Red John had meant? It was so simple, so brilliant. Red John was holding her at Jane's own house. Nobody knew he still had the house, so there wouldn't be visitors and it was secluded and quiet, perfect for a serial killer. It was the last place anyone would have expected him to be, in the house of somebody who had sworn vengeance against him. And it had been the beginning, where Jane had found his murdered wife and child. It was perfect.

A little voice in his head (which sounded extraordinarily like Lisbon) piped up that he was jumping to conclusions and he couldn't possibly have got all that from one line of a letter. But just like he'd been on every case, his knew his hunch was right. Red John wanted to be found. For what would have been the point in taking Lisbon if he weren't able to use her to draw Jane in? He would have killed her and be done with it already.

But no, Red John was throwing down the gauntlet, daring Jane to come and face him. It was the chance Jane had been waiting for, all these long years. To finally meet him face to face. To get the vengeance he was owed. To actually be able to save the one he loved from a grisly fate before it happened.

If he drove fast, he could be there in half an hour.

"Oh Rigsby, you didn't actually eat it, did you?" Van Pelt's voice floated across the room as the two agents re-entered the bullpen. "That's disgusting."

Jane started at their voices. He'd been so absorbed in his revelations, he'd forgotten about the rest of the team. Up til now, he'd kept them in the dark about the whole Lisbon/Red John business, but perhaps it was time to come clean. He knew they all had Lisbon's welfare very much at heart, despite the separation and were almost as deeply involved in the Red John case as he was himself. The death of Bosco and his team had rocked the whole of the CBI, and Serious Crimes in particular as they came to understand how powerful the serial killer truly was, and just what the cost might be of dabbling in his case.

They had a right to know, but still he found himself hesitant to tell them. For if they were with him when he met Red John, they would surely try to stop him from killing him. And if Red John found himself outnumbered he would be more likely to cut his losses, kill Lisbon and slip away again.

He couldn't let that happen. He had to play it smart; that was only way of dealing with Red John, and until Lisbon was out of the killer's clutches and preferably safely wrapped up in Jane's own arms, he couldn't risk telling the team. There was too much at stake.

Surreptitiously, he lowered the bloodstained necklace he still held in his clenched hand back into the box and closed the lid. She loved that cross, and he intended to return it to her. He wished he could wipe the blood away, but if anyone were to catch him at it, he'd be in for a lot of awkward questions. He slipped the box into his pocket.

He should get going. He'd already wasted enough time, and time was something Lisbon did not have.

* * *

Lisbon lay curled up on a thin mattress, face to the wall. She didn't know where she was, or how long she had been here (for it seemed like years.) She didn't know what had caused the deep gash in her forehead that had clearly bled steadily for some time, dripping into her hair as she lay on her side.

The last thing she remembered was returning from her run. The mat had been crooked. She had retrieved one of her back-up guns from the couch. After that, there was nothing.

The room had an eerie silence about it, like something terrible had happened in here. It was also curiously under-furnished, bare but for the makeshift bed she lay on. The window was covered with blinds, but the small gaps between them let some light trickle through, whether natural or artificial, she couldn't say.

Footsteps outside, slowly approaching and getting louder and louder with each step. The creaking of the door as it opened rusted hinges screaming in protest. Dazzling light from whatever hallway was beyond, flooded into the room and she shut her eyes tightly to shield them from the sight of not only that, but the man who had just entered.

He was tall, and powerfully built. One hand was clutching a knife, running his thumb back and forth across the blade. He advanced on her and the panic started to rise inside her, but she was determined not to let him see it.

This had become quite a regular occurrence since she'd been here. He would just lean back against the far wall and watch her for what felt like hours without saying a word. She could feel his eyes raking over her body, sense the lengths he was going to, to try and control himself. She wondered what would happen when his self-control reached its end. What was there to stop him from taking what he wanted from her? He hadn't given her any water or food, and her fear and despair weakened her further. She didn't even have the strength to sit up, let alone fight him off if necessary.

He crouched down beside her and she could feel his hot breath, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She made herself utterly still, determined not to react in any way. She had to work hard to stifle the shudder of revulsion when he touched her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze.

He chuckled. "Oh you needn't be so uptight, Teresa." She had never heard him speak before. He had a raspy sort of voice, even in a whisper. "You and me, we're just having a little fun."

He used his light hold on her shoulder to effortlessly roll her over until she faced him. She kept her eyes shut tight, knowing they would betray her fear.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "No, no this won't do at all. Come on, I want to see those pretty eyes."

She made no move to show she had heard him, and he sighed.

"You know, it really is in your best interests that you do what I say," he said, and lifted her tank top partially, exposing her stomach. She felt something cold and sharp against it. "I may need you alive for the moment," he continued as he drew the knife slowly across her body, not quite hard enough to draw blood. "But there will come a time when you will have no further use to me and trust me," The knife stopped, and was pressed into her skin a tiny bit harder. "You'll want to be on my good side."

The knife was withdrawn. "Come on," he said again, and she could hear the irritation in his voice now. "I don't want to have to hurt you over something as simple as this. Open your eyes," he lowered his voice even more. "Or I'll do it for you."

What choice did she have? Slowly, she obeyed. It was the first time she had seen him up close. She noticed his skin was sallow and waxy like it hadn't seen daylight for a long time. He had a square jaw and high cheekbones, which made her think he had probably been quite handsome once. His eyes were such a deep shade of brown they were almost black.

He smiled, but it seemed unnatural somehow, as though his face had forgotten how to do it.

"That's a girl," he said. "Much better."

She didn't respond, but wouldn't let her gaze stray from his, no matter how much she might want to.

His smile faded slowly, and instead a look of sorrow crossed his face.

"It pains me to see you like this," he said. "You're normally so vivacious and lively."

She stiffened, which unfortunately, he saw.

"Oh yes, I know you quite well, my dear." He laid a delicate stress on the endearment that made a shiver run down her spine. "You'd be surprised to know just how well."

He moved his arm, and something glimmered at his wrist. A watch, which he was now examining.

He sighed. "He's taking his time," he muttered quietly to himself.

In spite of herself, Lisbon felt curious as to whom this mysterious 'he' might be. Was her captor expecting someone? A partner perhaps? Was that why she was still alive, to make equal shares for the both of them?

He then lowered himself from his crouch to sit on the floor, nursing the knife in his arms like a baby. For one wild moment, she considered trying to grab it, but then common sense kicked in. He would overpower her in an instant.

"This would all make a great story, don't you think?" he said conversationally. The question had apparently been rhetorical because he didn't pause to wait for her answer. "I mean it's got everything, a dark fortress, a deranged psychopath." Here he chuckled and his chest swelled up with pride. "The hauntingly beautiful damsel in distress."

He took a strand of her hair and twisted it around his finger, leaving it in a soft curl when he pulled it free. His finger grazed the side of her neck.

"We're just missing one thing," he said as he repeated the action. "Where's the knight in shining armour? Isn't he supposed to be the one to ride in on his noble steed and save the day?" He grinned. "I guess he had other commitments."

It was sweet relief when he finally stopped touching her even though she now felt she wanted to drown herself in disinfectant.

"But this leaves us in a bit of a quandary," he said. "No story is complete without a kiss, for dramatic effect you know, and since your superhero hasn't turned up yet, I guess I'll have to step in."

He leaned down now, and she saw his lips approaching hers. It was a slight relief when they instead landed on her cheek. She told herself to keep breathing, even though she wanted to both be violently sick, and slap him away at the same time.

He drew away, smiling, and gently wiped the kiss away, letting his hand rest briefly on her cheek. "So soft," he said. "Almost like silk. I can see why you were the one he chose."

"Who?" she found herself asking very quietly, her voice hoarse and scratchy from a combination of lack of use, and dehydration.

He put a finger to her lips to silence her. "Never fear, my sweet. You'll find out soon enough. Until then, get some rest."

He took away his finger and replaced with his mouth. The only positive thing about the kiss was that it was short; she barely had time to be repulsed by the unwanted act before it was over.

He started to rise, until he was on his feet again, towering over her like a giant. Without saying any more, he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She coughed and spluttered, trying to get rid of the taste of him, trying to rid her mind of the memory. How he had smelled, the way his eyes had been shining with lust. How she'd wanted so badly to push him off, but simply didn't have the strength.

She was weak, defenceless. Her only hope was that by some miracle, somebody would find her here. For the first time in a long time, Lisbon had no cards left to play. She didn't have the energy required to move, or even talk anymore. All she had was despair. Tears she had been holding back since he came in suddenly sprang forth, and it was all she could do to curl herself into an even tighter ball and let them flow as they wanted, until she eventually cried herself to sleep.

* * *

How Jane despised Sacramento traffic. He'd now been sitting in the same spot for ten full minutes in the mid-afternoon gridlock and the inaction was driving him crazy. He should almost be in Malibu by now but no, he was here trying to tune out the din of blaring horns, idling engines, and people in other cars shouting abuse at one another.

Slipping out of the CBI had been easy enough. He'd just mumbled something incoherent about getting a taco and nobody had questioned it (if they'd even listened at all, which he doubted.) He'd figured that excuse would buy him at least twenty minutes, and due to his current unpopularity with the team it could potentially be much longer before anyone bothered to notice he hadn't come back.

The surrounding cars began to move forward a little and so he took his foot off the brake and let the car roll the two inches that everyone else had.

It felt strange to be going into certain danger without the rest of the team by his side. Even though this encounter with Red John was something he had desperately wanted for so long, he found he was a touch anxious about it.

Over the years, the others had often shielded him from having to run any real risks and had always been there to bail him out of whatever scrapes he had managed to get himself into. Lisbon, his own personal bodyguard, had always been good at that, often flying out of nowhere to subdue people having them on the ground and handcuffed before they even knew what had hit them.

But not today. This time, she was the one in trouble and it was his turn to give something back to her. It had been his stupidity that had got her into this mess, and now it was up to him to get her out of it. If he possessed even half of her strength and courage, he would be feeling a lot more confident right now. As it was, his hands were clenched on the steering wheel and it felt like his whole body was poised for a fight.

Whenever he'd imagined this day, he'd always thought he would be in a state of deadly calm, rather than the nervous wreck he was at the moment. He'd never expected he might be afraid of what might happen.

It had been so much easier when it was just himself alone. One man against the world with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Everything had been clinical, methodical with no emotional complications so when he did eventually meet Red John in that respect at least, they would be evenly matched. But then Lisbon had come into his life and screwed the whole thing up. It hadn't been instantaneous, it had crept up on him slowly but surely so that when he'd finally figured out what was happening he'd been in too deep to get out. She'd made him care again, made him want to fight the darkness that threatened to consume him. He'd begun to question everything about himself and what he wanted. He found he resented her just a tiny bit for that. Thanks to her, he was now at a disadvantage, and both he and Red John knew it.

He glanced through the windscreen at the blue sky. If there _were_ someone up there, they obviously hated him. First his family had been taken from him, he had been made to suffer through years of dead ends and false leads in his search for justice, and now it was the day of his final triumph and he couldn't even enjoy it because he was too busy worrying about Lisbon. How much more heartache could a person stand? When was Patrick Jane ever going to catch a break?

A horn blasted behind him, jolting him out of his thoughts. To his astonishment, the traffic was beginning to move. He carefully pressed on the accelerator, wondering if he'd just used up his good luck for the day.

* * *

A floorboard creaked, and in the deathly silence, it was as loud as a gunshot. Attuned to even the slightest noise, Lisbon woke abruptly from her fitful sleep, which had seemed to suck even more energy from her body, rather than replenishing it.

The door opened once more, and in came her tormentor.

"I can't say much for your man's punctuality," he said, approaching her once again. "And if there's one thing I hate, it's being kept waiting."

The knife gleamed in his hand.

"He needs to be punished. And the most effective way I can do that is going to be a bit unpleasant for you, Teresa. For you see, your pain is his pain too. Oh, the power of love," he sighed. "Isn't it wonderful?"

She couldn't even begin to try and work out what he meant by all this, and so made no response.

"Believe me when I say that I take no pleasure in hurting you," he said as he advanced on her. But there was no mistaking the malicious enjoyment in his eyes as he ran the knife down her forearm. She felt the blade pierce her skin. The pain came next and she forced herself to keep her silence.

He watched with fascination as the blood began to spill from her wound.

"Well, I have to confess, I am enjoying it a little," he said. "Now, where shall we slice next?"

This time, when the steel ripped through her flesh, she had to work harder to stop the scream. She'd had to bite her lip quite hard, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she was in.

It was all she could do stay quiet, and pray for it to stop.

* * *

Red John continued his task. How he did enjoy this work. Although, could one really call it work, when one was having this much fun? A little nick here, a little nick there. Not too deep. He couldn't have her bleeding out before Jane arrived; it would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

The blade of the knife was dripping with crimson liquid now. It was such a beautiful sight. How elegant the little droplets looked as they fell to the floor. Through all this, she hadn't made a sound, not a whimper or moan. It was unusual for sure, as by this stage they would normally all be screaming or sobbing. But she'd endured everything he'd done to her without making a peep. Very impressive.

Reluctantly, he set the knife down. That was enough, for now.

And then he heard the sound he had been waiting for. A door opened downstairs.

* * *

Jane stood in the hallway of the house that once been his family home. Once filled with the laughter of his wife and his darling daughter, and his single favourite place in the world, now a house of horrors, where Jane's inner demons waited behind every corner to devour him.

Red John was here. He could feel it. And if he were here, Lisbon would surely be here too. His hand clenched around the box that held her cross.

"Hello Patrick." The voice came from the bottom of the staircase; only a few feet away from Jane's own self. The last of the day's light threw shadows across the man's face, but Jane could tell he was smiling.

Red John took a step towards him. "At last we finally meet," he said. "I've been looking forward to this day for a very long time."

"Me too."

"We have such history you and I, don't we?" said Red John, mockingly. "And it all started right here. Almost brings a tear to the eye."

The enormity of this moment was not lost on Jane, far from it in fact, but right now he couldn't afford to be distracted from his current purpose: Find Lisbon. Make sure she was all right and then get her the hell out of there. Then, and only then, he could turn his attention to the other matter at hand.

"Where is she?"

The other man smirked. "Don't fear for your pretty agent. She'll keep. This is about you and me."

"Not anymore it isn't," Jane snarled. "You dragged her into this when you took her."

"_I_ dragged her into this?" said Red John, with an air of great surprise. "I don't think so. I think the blame for this rests squarely where it always has, entirely with you." There was a long pause. "And you know that, don't you Patrick? Yes, I can see it in your eyes. She wouldn't even have been on my radar, had you not made her so, and now here she is through no fault of her own, clinging to life, just because you couldn't help yourself."

Jane could feel the anger building inside him; he fought to keep it down. He must not lose control now, not until she was safe. He fixed his gaze at a spot on the floor, not trusting himself to be able to hold it together if he looked directly at the man.

"What was it Patrick?" asked Red John, taking a step closer. "What was it about her that was so irresistible to you, that you would risk putting her in danger just so you could have what you wanted? Was it the eyes? The way she let you run your childish games and then stepped in to take the heat? Those surprisingly luscious lips?"

Jane's head snapped up, and Red John laughed coldly.

"She tasted different to what I expected. Sweeter."

He ran his tongue across his own lips, as if still savouring the taste and Jane seethed. How dare that bastard touch her? How dare he violate her when she was weakened and stricken, unable to fight back?

"But you wouldn't know, would you?" he went on, tauntingly. "You being such a failure at everything you attempt, surely you were never brave enough to go there? For you were too afraid to have your pathetic, pitiful heart broken again. Coward that you are."

"Whereas you had to beat her into submission so she wouldn't break your neck with her bare hands," Jane shot back, savagely. "Who's the real coward here?"

The other man simply shrugged. "Do you want to know the real reason I brought you here?" he asked. "I thought it might be time for us to have a little chat. We have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Not until I know she's OK," said Jane, much more assertively then he felt.

"You're in no position to make demands here, Patrick. I can see you have no weapon, and I don't think you're quite stupid enough to bring anyone with you. Anyway I expect they're all probably still angry with you for costing dear Teresa her job. Am I right?"

Jane folded his arms, but said nothing.

"The silent treatment, is it? That's very childish. But I suppose I shouldn't have expected any more of you."

Jane remained still as a statue.

Red John sighed. "I can see I'm not going to get anywhere with you while you're in this petulant mood. I suppose if I let you see her, it might speed things along?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled around. "You have five minutes."

"Where is she?" Jane asked again.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

* * *

Footsteps again, but not as heavy this time, and at a faster pace. Lisbon listened through the haze of pain as they approached. Somebody was in great hurry. She wondered what the urgency was. A flying trip to the bathroom, or a murderer eager to get on with his next kill? Perhaps his self-control had finally reached its limit.

Most of the bleeding had stopped now, but a few drops oozed from the gash on her forearm, peppering the mattress. Her white tank top was stained with red.

The footsteps quickened some more, as they got closer. Was this the end?

* * *

Jane pushed open the door of his makeshift bedroom, a cup of cold water in his hand, and was greeted by yet another sight that he knew would haunt him until the end of his days. The smiley-face on the wall grinned at him just like always, and huddled underneath it on the mattress he called his bed, was Lisbon.

His Lisbon.

He lingered by the door for a moment; afraid of what he would find when he got close enough to see her properly. But when she let out a quiet breath, he found himself all but running to her side. She was alive. And nothing else mattered at that point.

He fell to his knees beside her. Her eyes were closed. Purple bruises stood out like beacons on her pale skin, some fresh, some looked to be a few days old. Here and there, a cut unmistakeably from a knife, also which seemed to have occurred quite recently. Every injury he found was another jolt to his system, another reason to hate the inhuman beast who had done this to her, another minute of pain and suffering Jane would inflict on him, when the time came.

But she was alive. And for that, he was grateful.

* * *

"Oh, Lisbon." From somewhere to her left, a voice, softer than the deep rasp she had become used to, broke the silence of the room. The voice was vaguely familiar. Like something out of a dream.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked.

In response, she let out a little noise that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Something cold brushed against the side of her mouth, and she moved her head away from it.

"No, no, no," the voice coaxed gently. "It's OK, it's just water. Don't push it away."

She shifted around slightly, but couldn't quite sit up.

She heard the person move and then felt herself being pulled into a pair of strong arms.

* * *

Jane supported Lisbon in his arms as best he could, holding her head up so she could finally get the water she so desperately needed.

He brought the cup to her lips and she started drinking with gusto.

"Hey, take it easy," he said. "Sip it, don't gulp it. You'll make yourself sick."

When she had finished all the water, he set the cup down beside them.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled, and as he watched, her eyes slowly opened. She blinked a few times, taking in her surroundings and eventually her eyes focused on him.

It seemed to take her a moment to fully process what she was seeing.

"Jane?" she said, in surprise.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," she said, in a smaller voice than he was used to. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"Shh, shh. Don't talk right now."

He pulled her even deeper into his arms, and the warmth he was exuding was so delicious, so comforting, that she nestled as close to him as the laws of physics would allow.

Curiously, this made Jane more worried for her then ever. Since when did the great Teresa Lisbon ever accept comfort so readily? And from him, no less. Considering the state she'd been in the last time he'd seen her, he'd been fully expecting her to push him away.

What had Red John done to turn the strong-willed woman he'd fallen in love with into this helpless creature that clung to him so tightly now that it seemed she thought he might evaporate if she let go?

And most importantly, how could he get her back?

"God, I have been so worried about you," he said. "This is all my fault."

He kissed the top of her head, and then the door opened.

"Time's up, Jane."

"Damn," he whispered.

"Come on, you've had your fun. Now we get down to business."

* * *

Jane was torn between not wanting to let her out of his sight again, and the sweet temptation of being alone with Red John and to be able to punish him for all he had done.

"Trust me, this is a golden opportunity," said Red John, echoing Jane's thoughts. "You're going to want to hear what I have to say. Or perhaps you need a little persuasion?"

Out of his pocket, he drew a knife, the blade smeared with red.

"Surely you'd like to spare her any unnecessary pain? Make this easier on her?"

Jane cut his eyes from the knife to where she lay motionless in his arms.

"Fine," he said.

As gently as he could, he settled her back down on the mattress. "I'll be right back for you," he told her quietly.

Walking away from her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but deep down, he knew he had no choice. Once he had disposed of Red John, all his problems would be over. He would avenge his family, achieve his life's mission, and Lisbon would be safe. Sure, he was probably heading for a nice long stay in state prison, but it seemed a small price to pay in order to get what he had wanted for so long.

"_Hang in there, Lisbon," _he thought to himself as he reached the doorway. He was going to get her out of this if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

The other man grinned as Jane approached. How easy it was to manipulate people in love. Like taking candy from a baby.

"So what's this business?" Jane asked when he reached him.

"I've been thinking of retiring from the serial killing game. Killer never caught and still at large sounds so much more impressive than arrested and jailed."

"How about dead?" said Jane. "Because I'll be more than happy to arrange that for you."

Red John chuckled. "You keep saying that. But talking about killing someone is a lot different than actually doing it."

"I've done it before."

"Shooting Hardy you mean? Ah yes, the knee-jerk reaction to the threat he posed to dear Teresa's life wasn't it? Very noble of you. But that was in hot blood. And I have found that shooting someone is one of the least confronting ways of killing them. Killing in cold blood though, that's a whole different ball game. You have to be slow, methodical. You have to really enjoy what you're doing. Savour it. And frankly, I don't think you're cut out for it."

"Why don't you hand me that knife, and we'll find out," Jane growled at him.

"Patience, Patrick. Patience. This is the kind of thing where you have to start small and work your way up. Hardy was a good beginning but I don't think you're quite up to my standard yet. You just need a little practice."

"I'm sure I'll get the hang of it while I'm taking you apart."

Another chuckle. "You know what your problem is, Patrick? You're all talk and no action. Oh, you're OK with your stupid little psychic stunts but when it comes to something that takes real commitment, you can't do it."

"Actually, I can. I found you, didn't I?"

"If I remember correctly, it was I that found you, Patrick. If I hadn't chosen to reveal myself to you, I have no doubt that you'd still be as far away from tracking me down as you've always been."

"Now I've got you, nothing's going to stop me from taking you down."

"Is that so?"

A fist came out of nowhere, and collided hard with the side of Jane's head. He fell back against the wall, and Red John used the opportunity to slip back into the room.

* * *

When the pain subsided enough for him to see clearly again, Jane saw him standing over Lisbon, the knife poised over her abdomen.

"No!" he roared. "We had a deal!"

Red John's eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't care for your tone, Patrick. Are you accusing me of going back on my word?" He made a reproachful noise. "See this is what I mean by commitment. When I make a promise, I stick to it at any cost."

Jane's shoulders sagged in relief.

Red John flashed him another taunting smile. "_I'm_ not going to kill her. _You_ are."

Jane thought he felt his heart literally stop beating in his chest. His throat began to constrict and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

"You want us to have our little showdown, and that's fine with me," Red John went on. "But I have to be sure that you mean it when you say you want to kill me. And what better way to test it than this?"

He advanced on Jane. "So what's it to be? Your life's ambition, or the life of the woman you love?"

He grinned once more.

"This is your only chance, Patrick. When I leave this place today, you'll never see me again, and the lives of your wife and daughter will go unavenged. And as for Teresa, well I'm sure there's plenty more where she came from. If it were up to me I know what I'd do. But the choice is yours."

He threw the knife down beside Jane and the steel rang out as it hit the wooden floor.

* * *

**I do love a good cliffhanger. Don't you? **


	10. The Madness Of A Murderer

**Hopefully you haven't all died of old age while waiting for this chapter to be posted. I apologize for the delay.**

**I'd like to dedicate this one to my sister Beccy who despite her irrational hatred of Simon Baker, sat with me and allowed me to bounce some ideas off her when I was monumentally blocked. I doubt this chapter would have ever gotten finished without her. :)**

**Disclaimer and rating remain the same.**

* * *

Incredibly, while Patrick Jane's personal version of the seventh circle of hell had been unfolding in Malibu, things back in Sacramento were progressing quite normally. Van Pelt leaned forward on the desk briefly, with her head in her hands. She'd now been staring at a computer screen for nearly three hours and mild eyestrain was beginning to take hold.

With Lisbon gone, there had been a sudden and unpleasant increase in the paperwork the team had to complete. Lacking their former boss's somewhat maniacal work ethic, Cho had opted to divvy up the extra work between the three of them rather than tackling it all himself.

Like the good hardworking rookie she was, Van Pelt had devoted almost the entire day to dealing with her share. Rigsby's portion had been stuffed into the top drawer of his desk; she doubted he'd even looked at it yet. As for Cho, once he'd finished with the mail, he'd begun steadily working his way through his stack, stopping a few times, twice to take phone calls and once when Hightower dropped by requesting a word in her office.

Van Pelt could tell that Cho was having a hard time dealing with his abrupt promotion to the head of Serious Crimes. The extra workload, along with Hightower's continued pressure on him to take up the position permanently was beginning to wear on his nerves. Of course he never said so, that wasn't his way, but sometimes she saw Rigsby looking over at him with a frown on his face, concerned for his closest friend.

It had been difficult to adjust to the new team dynamic that had been forced on them by Lisbon's departure. They'd endeavoured to carry on as normally and professionally as always, the way Lisbon would have wanted them to, and from a work standpoint, not a lot had changed. But on a personal level, the cracks were beginning to show. Cho had become even more withdrawn than ever, if that were possible, practically chained to his desk all day long and only speaking when spoken to. After the incident at Tovis', herself and Rigsby had reached an uncomfortable kind of truce, talking about neural topics, but reverting to awkward silences whenever the conversation threatened to take a more personal turn.

Worse still were the team's relations with their consultant. Rigsby and Cho, once Jane's frequent partners in crime, now seemed unwilling even to look at him, and if forced to talk to him, their voices took on an icy edge. Jane had committed the ultimate sin by betraying one of their own, and in the world of cops, disloyalty like that was unforgiveable. It seemed their friendship was well and truly at an end.

For her part, while not quite able to find in her heart to forgive Jane just yet, Van Pelt sometimes cast her eyes over to the couch and felt within herself just the tiniest twinge of sympathy. She saw in the consultant's air what the other two simply refused to see; Jane was missing Lisbon terribly. It made sense, over the years he had structured so much of his day around her that now she was gone, it was like he didn't know what to do with himself. He too had become quieter and retreated further into himself since she'd left, waiting for the others to ask for his point of view, instead of offering it willingly as he used to do. He'd also seemed to spend less time sleeping these days, and more time simply lying there, with his gaze fixed on the empty office.

In fact, that office seemed to draw everyone's gaze to it a lot more these days. When they arrived in the mornings it had become force of habit for them all to flick their eyes in that direction before they sat down, as if they could summon their leader back to it through sheer force of will. Once, the phone inside had rung and all four of their heads had snapped towards it so fast they might've given themselves whiplash. The phone had rung and rung, until Rigsby had gotten up and stormed into the office with blazing eyes. He'd snatched up the receiver and then slammed it back down so hard that the sound had made them all flinch. He determinedly avoided everyone's eyes as he returned to his desk. One by one, they had returned to their tasks.

She'd somehow known that Jane had been the last to look away.

Van Pelt looked over at the couch now, looking strangely bare without Jane lying on it. She wondered where he was. He'd said something about getting lunch, she remembered, but that had been hours ago and she hadn't seen him since. That was unlike him. But then again, he'd been doing a lot of out-of-character things lately.

She still couldn't quite believe how malicious he had been, gambling with her life and backing Lisbon into a corner, forcing her into making that impossible choice. She thought back to her conversation with Cho and Rigsby a few days prior. Her own words came back to her with a taunting clarity.

"_Jane won't do anything else though, right? I mean, it's Lisbon we're talking about. I know he has his faults, but anyone can see he cares about her."_

Looking back on it, she was embarrassed at how she could have been so naïve. She'd truly believed that Jane was not yet beyond redemption, and when he realized just how important he was to the team, and Lisbon in particular he'd stop this silly quest for revenge and start appreciating what he had.

What she had the most trouble understanding was his motivation. It was no secret that he felt more for Lisbon than what he was settling for with just a professional relationship. More than once, she'd caught him looking at their boss with the kind of yearning in his eyes that Rigsby had used to have when he looked at her. Lisbon of course had either not noticed or was ignoring it but the rest of the team, hell the rest of the building, knew that if Jane was ever going to love again, there was only one candidate in the running.

So why would he jeopardize that? Had he been so twisted by the horrors in his earlier life that he'd seen no choice but to sabotage his relationship with her to protect her? Or was it just what it seemed, unnecessary, meaningless cruelty for no other purpose than to cause her pain? Well if that was his aim, he had certainly succeeded, Van Pelt thought, remembering the way Lisbon's eyes had filled with tears. She'd never seen her cry before.

Another snippet from her conversation with the guys came back to her now.

"_Whatever the problem is between Jane and Lisbon, they'll get through it. We see them do it every day. They'll drive each other up the wall, but in the end they always work it out."_

Rigsby's voice chimed in.

"_Sure. But what if this time they don't?"_

He had asked the question, raised the possibility they were avoiding. Well, now they were finding out. This was the result of Jane and Lisbon not being able to work things out. Lisbon thrown out of the CBI, a miserable team and now, an AWOL consultant.

She considered saying something to the others, but in their present mood she thought they'd only be interested if Jane had gone to throw himself off a cliff. In that case, she figured that they'd just be disappointed not to be able to push him over it themselves.

Anyway, Jane had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. Besides, he was a grown man. He could take care of himself.

* * *

In his lifetime, Jane had experienced his fair share of defining moments. The moment he had discovered he could do things other kids couldn't, the day he'd finally stood up to his father and said he didn't want to con sick people anymore, the day he'd done that blasted talk show about Red John, the moment he'd opened the door to this very room to see what had happened to his family. The day he'd renounced his psychic skills and joined the CBI.

But this, this capped them all. Here he was, with an ugly choice to make that either way could only bring him sorrow.

Red John or Lisbon? Revenge for his wife or life for his new love? His future or his past? He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out Lisbon's bloodstained crucifix, holding to his heart in a clenched fist. He did something he had never done before. He prayed. He prayed for guidance. What was he supposed to do?

If there was ever a time he needed some divine intervention, it was now.

He waited for something to happen, for some kind of sign, but even as he waited nothing happened but for the low chuckle of the man who stood in the shadows against the wall.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to make himself believe. He asked the universe for a miracle. If not for himself, then for Lisbon. She deserved a miracle. She believed.

She believed that she could make the world a better place. She believed there was light at the end of the tunnel. She'd believed in _him_, when nobody else would. Surely that was enough to earn her some cosmic brownie points?

But when he opened his eyes, still nothing had changed. Red John was still laughing. Lisbon was still unconscious on the floor; the knife was still gleaming at his side.

He put the necklace back into his pocket.

He should've known. There was no escaping this nightmare. Not that easily, anyway.

"Wow," came the hated voice from the wall. "I think you're the first person to both find and abandon religion in under thirty seconds. Should I contact Guinness World Records?"

Jane did not deign to answer, but picked up the knife next to him, feeling the cold steel against his skin.

"Now just what are you going to do with that Patrick?" asked Red John, with interest. "Nothing stupid I hope."

Jane stood slowly up, drawing himself to his full height. As much as he wanted to rush at the man behind him and plunge the blade into his heart he knew he could not. Red John would be expecting an attack and would defend himself accordingly. But the idea was tempting.

No. To do so would be to sign his own death warrant, as well as Lisbon's. It would all be for nothing. Seven years of waiting and two weeks of trying to protect her would both go up in smoke, with nothing to show for it but another two dead bodies. All his efforts would go to waste.

He couldn't let that happen. But which one was he prepared to sacrifice for the sake of the other? He couldn't have both.

She stirred, moving her head a little. His heart ached as she gave a tiny moan.

He loved her so much.

The knife was dropped with a clatter.

* * *

"Are you sure about this Patrick?" came the voice again. "Pretty women are two a penny for a handsome man like you. Is she really so irreplaceable?"

Of course she was irreplaceable. She was unique, one of a kind. Special. Precious.

"Your devotion to her is admirable," Red John continued. "But you should think about what you're giving up here. The only thing you want out of life, and you're passing it up for what's probably just a brief infatuation."

Silence, as the killer's words slowly sunk in, no matter how hard Jane tried not to listen to them. It was like they were being drilled into his brain.

"We were talking about commitment before," said Red John. "Look at that ring on your left hand. It's a symbol of the promise you made. You promised you'd avenge their deaths. Think about them now."

He tried to block it out as his wife and daughter's faces flashed into his mind. He heard their voices. Remembered their names. He examined the gold band on his finger. He knew Red John was deliberately trying to make him doubt himself. And it was working.

"Commitment, Patrick," came the cold voice from the back wall again. "All those years ago, you made one. Now it's time to honour it." A pause. "Or don't you love them enough to finish what you started?"

* * *

That was the moment when Jane made his decision. He picked up the knife again. Holding it in a shaking hand, he made his way forward to where Lisbon lay. His legs felt like lead, his arms felt like stone, and his heart felt heavier than the both of them combined, as he once again knelt beside her.

"Good man," said Red John when he realized what was happening. "You made the right choice. But just so you don't get any funny ideas, take a look at me for a second."

Jane glanced over his shoulder and the other man lifted his shirt to reveal a gun in the waistband of his pants. "Borrowed it from dear Teresa's house," he said, weighing it experimentally in his hand. "She didn't seem to mind. Now then…" There was a click as the safety was taken off and he pointed the barrel at Jane. "I suggest you get to work."

* * *

Jane felt sick to the stomach. Was he actually going to do this? Could he really do something so monstrous to the woman he loved?

He blinked back the tears that were gathering in his eyes as he took in her sleeping form. Still so beautiful, despite the bumps and bruises. He let his eyes run over every inch of her, committing every little thing to memory. So many tiny features he loved, probably so many he didn't even know about yet hidden under her clothes that he would now never get to discover. He'd never thought it would come to this. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

He'd been pushing down his feelings for her for so long now that even at this pivotal moment he couldn't bring himself to say what he had wanted to say for months. There would be no more opportunities. It was now or never.

She chose that moment to let out a long, low sigh, and he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't say the phrase out loud. Instead, he put his mouth close to her ear and whispered a single word.

"Goodbye."

The woman he adored, his saving grace, the only reason he had bothered to drag himself into work some days, the only person he treasured as much as his revenge.

He couldn't think of her that way anymore. She needed to become an object, the final step in the road to Red John. His life's purpose within his grasp, she was the final hurdle he had to clear. He couldn't miss his only chance.

* * *

Jane was struggling badly with the decision he'd made. It was written all over his face. To Red John, it was beautiful to watch. No amount of suffering could ever be enough for Patrick Jane who had been a ruthless pursuer and downright nuisance for so long now.

Watching him try to work up the guts to do away with his lady would be good sport. It would be a long process, but the three of them were quite alone here with plenty of time on their hands.

He kept the gun aimed at Jane but he had no intention of killing him. He must be allowed to live so that he might spend every day with the agony of knowing what he had done. He imagined the man being kept awake all night with nightmares and being plagued with guilt all day.

He may not know it yet, but Patrick Jane was in a no-win situation. Even if he did manage to kill Agent Lisbon, Red John was not about to let himself become Jane's next victim. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

* * *

Patrick Jane's heart was beating as loud as a war drum, blocking out any other sound. He felt literally beside himself, as though he were standing off to the side as somebody else brought the sharp blade of the knife to within an inch of her skin.

Somebody else hesitated as they tried to decide the best way to do it, as quickly as possible so that her suffering would be brief.

Somebody else brought the knife up to her throat, and then, reconsidering, positioned it over her heart.

The fingers of a stranger brushed against the side of her neck as he looked at her one last time. Silky smooth skin that should have first been experienced through the passionate touches and fiery kisses of a lover, rather than the shaking hands of a would-be killer.

The stranger held the knife over her, feeling the moment fast approaching even though he didn't want it to. He raised it higher, and mentally prepared himself to bring it down.

He might have been able to go through with it if she hadn't opened her eyes.

Jane suddenly felt his mind rocket back into his body as her eyelids fluttered and he saw those dazzling green eyes again. She looked up at him with confusion.

"Patrick," she croaked uncertainly.

He tried so hard not to look into the emerald orbs, knowing that if he did he could never complete his task. Eventually they pulled him in, like they'd been doing for years, and he saw something in them that he wasn't used to.

Fear.

Caused by him, the maniac holding the knife over her chest.

She, the great Teresa Lisbon was afraid of him, and what he might do. It was worse than her anger or even her silence. She swallowed, and then squeezed her eyes shut.

He could see that she truly believed this was the end.

It was like somebody then flipped a switch somewhere in his brain.

What the hell was he doing?

He couldn't kill her. Not even if it meant finally taking his revenge on Red John.

Her life was more important than Red John, more important than justice for his family, even more important than the cold satisfaction of revenge. He'd always thought that there was nothing he wouldn't do to settle the score with the man who'd taken away all the things that had made his life worth living.

He'd been wrong.

Once again, Teresa Lisbon had foiled his carefully laid plans simply by being herself.

She was everything to him now, and her life was a price he was not prepared to pay.

* * *

She lay utterly still, and waited for the pain. There was no point hoping that Jane would spare her, not when he'd been offered the chance to have what he had craved for so long.

She thought about the brief glimpse she'd had of him when she'd opened her eyes before. The man she saw was a far cry from the Jane she'd known for the past few years. He'd looked so pale he was almost skeletal. All the colour had been drained from his face; sweat was glistening on his brow. His hair matted, the blonde curls limp. Gone was the cheeky twinkle in the eye and the mischievous smile, in fact he'd looked gaunt, like he'd never smiled in his life.

She hoped he would find what he was looking for, otherwise her death, like her life, would turn out to be useless. For what had she achieved in her thirty-something years on this earth? She had thrown herself into a career that had come to nothing and as a result, had precious few friends outside the CBI. Her longest ever relationship had lasted only three months before she'd cut and run.

When she was younger, she'd imagined herself to be married by now, maybe with a child on the way. She'd never thought this was how she'd end up, dying in a darkened room at the hands of a slightly deranged colleague who she'd never been quite able to figure out how she felt about.

She thought of her brothers, her team, Minelli, the only people who might notice or care about her fate. She thought of her mother; she'd be joining her soon, wherever she was.

But the pain never came.

She took the chance to open her eyes. The hand holding the knife aloft was shaking so violently that the blade looked like a silver-coloured blur. His eyes were brimming with tears. Slowly, the hand was withdrawn, the deadly weapon taken away. She could hardly dare to believe it.

What had stopped him?

* * *

Footsteps approached from behind.

"I'm disappointed in you, Patrick. I always thought that you were a spineless piece of vermin, but I was so hoping you would prove me wrong."

The voice was laced with a thin note of disgust.

"How does it feel to know you're going to go to your grave being of no use to anybody? You are utterly worthless in every conceivable way. I hope you can live with that."

"I've been managing for the last seven years," Jane pointed out, bitterly.

The other man shrugged. "Well, if you're content with being a charlatan for the rest of your miserable life, then who am I to judge? But now, what are we to do with poor Teresa?"

"Leave her out of this," Jane snarled.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Patrick. She's seen my face; she's heard my voice. If I let her go, she'll run straight to the authorities. You see I don't much fancy going to jail. I've heard it's incredibly tiresome."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I was hoping we wouldn't have to resort to this. She could be resting in peace by now, quickly and painlessly, if only you would be a man and do what was best for her. But as usual, you just had to have it your way and now she has to suffer for it. It's tragic really, but there's no other way."

With the gun still pointed at Jane, Red John came around and stood next to him, surveying her.

"It's going to be messy, I'm afraid," he said matter-of-factly. "And very slow. But I'm a showman after all, and it takes time to create a work of art. And you, Patrick, will watch every minute of it. I want you to witness the light leaving her eyes. It's one of the most breathtaking sights I've ever seen, the moment when someone makes the transition from life to death. It's almost magical," he concluded, reverently.

He smiled a broad, toothy smile.

"Shall we begin?"

* * *

Jane was aware of only two things; the knife was still in his hand and Red John was approaching Lisbon with hunger in his eyes. He had to do something. He couldn't let him get to her.

The next thing he knew, the knife had disappeared from his hand and was embedded in Red John's leg. Red John let out a howl of pain and the gun clattered to the floor. Jane took the opportunity to kick it away from him as Red John, wincing and gasping, sat on the floor to examine the wound.

Jane had to look away as Red John took hold of it and with the terrible sound of tearing flesh, pulled the knife out. The blade was coated with thick red blood from the tip all the way up to the handle like something out of a horror movie. The wound in his leg was quite large, blood flowing out in a steady stream, staining the jeans he wore.

"That was not one of your more intelligent ideas Patrick," he said, between grunts of pain. "Because now you've really pissed me off. And you're going to have to pay. You and your lady love over there."

Without warning, he lunged, sweeping Jane's legs out from under him. He tumbled to the floor and landed heavily on his side, his head striking a glancing blow against the hardwood floor. Momentarily dazed, Jane didn't have time to move away as he received a punch to the head.

He'd never been in a real fight before. Physical altercations had never been a particular strong suit of his; he'd always been good enough at spinning words to get himself out of trouble, or if that hadn't worked, the team had stepped in. But this time there was nobody but himself and his nemesis. It was just how he'd always wanted things to be. But he'd always imagined himself to be more in control of the situation.

Red John lined up another punch and Jane kicked out. There was a cracking sound and Red John shrank back, wincing. It appeared he had broken a few ribs. Jane became aware of something wet trickling down his neck and a sore spot at the back of his head. He supposed he'd split his head open when it had cracked against the floor.

With Jane temporarily distracted, Red John began dragging himself towards Lisbon. All he had to do was get close enough to hold that knife to her throat, and then Jane would stop resisting. He imagined Jane begging for mercy, saying he'd trade anything just to spare her life. Red John would let him plead for a while, just to enjoy the spectacle of watching him humiliate himself. And then he would kill her. Jane would be consumed by a murderous rage, and then the fun would truly begin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jane saw the dark shape he knew to be Red John moving slowly across the floor. Ignoring his aching body, he struggled to his feet and lurched after him. He caught up when Red John was just inches away from her. In desperation, he threw himself forwards, crashing into Red John and pitching him sideways.

It wasn't as polished as the now legendary 'Lisbon takedown', but it did the job. The other man hit the floor hard, and the knife came loose from his hand. Jane pounced on it, snatching it up as it bounced on the floor. He put his full body weight on Red John's chest, taking care to apply extra pressure to his injured ribs.

Jane felt a cruel, savage pleasure as Red John grimaced. Finally, after all these years of waiting and worrying and guilt he had him right where he wanted him. He was in total control. Red John's life was in his hands, at the mercy of his whim. It was total, complete power.

Red John's face twisted into a sneer. "Go on," he snarled. "I dare you."

Once again, Jane raised the knife, aiming for the heart. If this were a movie, the dramatic music would be just reaching the crescendo now and he would have some kind of epic speech to make. But now the moment was here, he found he didn't need any kind of embellishment to make it special. So he said nothing, and braced himself.

* * *

"No."

A single, whispered word stayed his hand. It hadn't come from the man beneath him, but from somewhere behind. Lisbon.

"Please…don't," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

"Lisbon, I have to," he said, his voice shaking. "He deserves it."

"I know. But you…can't. You'll…go to jail." He could hear the exertion in her voice, as if every word was an effort.

"I know what'll happen, Lisbon. I'm prepared to accept the consequences."

"You…might be…I'm not. Don't do it…please. For me."

Red John snickered. "I hate to interrupt this little lover's tiff, but can you please hurry up and lose your nerve already? I've got things to do today, places to go, pretty brunette state agents to kill…" He grinned at Jane, who drew in a sharp breath.

"I'm sorry Lisbon," he said.

With one, fluid motion he brought the knife down.

* * *

There was a sudden explosion of sound and in an instant Jane was spattered with blood.

Red John was dead.

Just like that. One moment here, the next moment gone.

But he hadn't even stabbed him yet.

"No!" Jane roared. "No!"

He shook Red John, punched him in the side of the head, anything to make him stop playing dead. It couldn't be true. He couldn't have gotten this far to have it taken away from him now.

But the other man did not stir. His eyes were open, but frozen and cold. Blood everywhere. Dead.

The tears sprung forth as he finally accepted the truth. He stood up in a blaze of fury and kicked at the body time and time again, as if it could somehow make up for the injustice of it all.

So close. He'd been so close. And now it was over. Forever.

He clenched his fists together and howled, an unearthly sound that echoed around the empty house.

How had this happened?

He swung around and instantly received his answer.

Lisbon, supporting herself painfully on one arm, the other hand clasped around the gun. The same gun Red John had dropped and he had kicked away. She was no longer on the mattress; it appeared she'd somehow managed to find the strength to crawl a few inches to reach it.

She'd killed him.

"I'm…sorry," she breathed. "I couldn't…let you do it."

Even as he looked at her, he felt the anger intensify. The world had turned red. For now, he didn't see the woman he loved. He didn't even see someone he recognised. He only saw the person that had cheated him of his revenge.

Blinded by fury, injustice and a white-hot hatred, he advanced on her, a man possessed. Without realizing what he was doing, he plunged the knife into her abdomen.

* * *

Her scream was worse than he ever could have imagined. It seemed to curdle his blood and send an icy chill down his spine at the same time. His nightmares had been nothing compared to the real thing. Somehow, the sound snapped him back to himself.

Horror-struck, he threw the knife aside as once again, blood began to stain the floor. There was a gurgling sound and little bubbles of blood appeared at the side of her mouth.

What had he done? One moment. One moment of madness and it had been enough to do so much.

He'd stabbed her. The woman who'd taught him what it was like to love again. His angel. His saviour. And he had tried to kill her.

If he'd ever needed more evidence that he wasn't human anymore and just a demon who hadn't yet made it to hell, this was it.

He pulled off his suit jacket, balled it up, and held it against her wound. He had to get her some help. But how? He wasn't strong enough to carry her and if she didn't get to a hospital soon, he would lose her for good.

There was only one chance. As quickly as he could, he hurried back to Red John's body. He felt in the pockets until he found what he was looking for. A cell phone. He rushed back to her, resuming the pressure on her stomach with one hand, and frantically dialling with the other.

"911," came the smooth voice over the line. "What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance," he said as quickly as he could. "There's a woman…she's been stabbed…she's losing a lot of blood."

"I need you to remain calm sir-"

"She doesn't have time for this crap!" he bellowed at the operator. "You've got to get here right now!" He shouted the address at her and then hung up the phone. He threw at the wall and it fell apart at the impact.

She was still breathing, but very weakly. Her eyes were open, but kept slipping closed at regular intervals, for a little bit longer each time. The blood was beginning to soak through his jacket now, so he pressed still harder.

"Come on Lisbon, you have to stay with me," he whispered. "You're stronger than this."

Her eyes closed again. "No, no, no," he begged her. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. This is all my fault. Please, open your eyes."

Her eyes opened and he saw the tiniest flash of green before they closed again.

"Oh no you don't," he said, almost hysterically. "You don't get to quit on me like this. You haven't even threatened to shoot me for getting you fired yet, and after this, you definitely owe me a serious ass-kicking. You know you've been wanting to do that for ages…"

Eyes opened.

He chuckled a tiny bit. "If that didn't wake you up nothing would."

Eyes closed.

"OK, OK I get it, bad joke. But come on, you're Teresa Lisbon and you don't give up on anything. You never back down. You're a fighter, and you're not going to let something like this beat you. "

The eyes stayed closed.

* * *

Adam Bonham and Kirsty Walker had been on their fair share of strange callouts in the 14 years of paramedic experience they had between them. But the job they were assigned in Malibu that day was a real doozy.

To the end of their days, neither of them would ever forget that scene. A smiley face of blood on the wall. The dead body of a man with a bullet-hole in his head. Pools of blood all over the place, some big some small. Another man, sobbing, and spattered with blood from head to foot crouching over a dark-haired woman bleeding profusely from the stomach and with her fingers curled around a gun.

He looked up when he heard their footsteps outside the door. He had the haunted look of a man who had seen and done things that most people wouldn't encounter in their most horrific nightmares. He said only two words to them as they approached.

"Help her."

She was in a bad way, but she was alive. When Kirsty and Adam carefully lifted the makeshift dressing they saw the gaping wound, still spewing blood. It was quite amazing in a way that she was still breathing. They'd seen people die of wounds far less extensive than this.

With difficulty, they got her on a stretcher and carried her down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. The man got up and followed them, not even sparing a glance to the body on the floor. He kept his eyes on her the whole way.

Once they had her settled in the back of the ambulance, Adam hurried around to the driver's seat and without waiting for invitation, the man hopped into the back with Kirsty. The vehicle took off.

In her years of this work, Kirsty had ridden along with many bereaved relatives of patients but this man was different from all the rest. Rather than clinging to the dark-haired woman's hand, or talking to her, or crying, or asking Kirsty how far it was to the hospital, he sat as still as a statue, and stared. He didn't take his eyes from the woman for a moment. He wasn't in such great shape himself, Kirsty noticed, with a black eye, a ripped shirt and a gash at the back of his head that she'd noticed earlier.

"Do you want me to look you over?" she asked.

He shook his head, his gaze set.

"It'll only take a minute, and there's nothing more I can do for her until we get to the hospital."

He shook his head again.

The ambulance jolted as they went around a corner and the patient moaned.

"What happened?" asked Kirsty. "Who did this to her?"

For the first time, the man's eyes met hers.

"I did."

* * *

Jane watched as the gurney was wheeled through the doors towards the operating rooms. People leaped out of the way as the doctors rushed her into emergency surgery.

"Female, mid-thirties," Jane heard one of them say as they blew past him. "Single stab wound to the lower abdomen, currently unconscious."

The doors swung shut behind them.

Jane suddenly felt he needed to sit, and staggered over to one of the chairs near the reception desk. All there was to do now was wait. And hope.

A young woman in a nurse's uniform with red frizzy hair came over to where he sat.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

He just stared at her.

"There's a telephone at the desk," she said. "Is there anyone you need to call?"

He shook his head.

"All right," she said gently, and went to walk away.

And then he remembered.

"Miss?" he called after her and she turned.

"Yes?"

"Actually, there is a call I need to make," he said.

She smiled at him. "Right this way."

He punched in the number, shaking hand holding the earpiece. There was blood on his hands he noticed. Her blood. The thought made him want to throw up.

"Cho?" he said when the call connected. "It's Jane."

"Jane? Where the hell are you?" Cho demanded to know.

"I'm at the hospital," said Jane. "You guys need to get here right away."

"The hospital?"

"It's not me," he paused. "It's Lisbon."

"Lisbon? What about her?"

"She's hurt, Cho. Badly."

"We'll be right there."

Jane was glad that Cho had not asked for more details, for how could he ever explain everything to him over the phone?

He returned to his chair. And he waited.

* * *

**You guys probably think I contradicted myself when I made Jane hurt her, but I honestly think in a situation like that he would probably go a little crazy and if she was in the way, he'd be just as likely to attack her as anyone else. But I'll understand if you disagree.**


	11. Poison Chalice

**Wow, it's almost been a month since I last updated. That's really bad. My only excuses are work and a complete lack of inspiration for a while. Luckily I was able combat this by watching my Season 1 DVD's.**

**Big thankyous to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I expected the twist would have got some people offside and I was very interested to find out your views.**

**This chapter is kind of a mixed bag, with the customary angst and a teeny tiny sprinkling of fluff in there too.**

**Disclaimer: You all know it's not mine.**

* * *

When people entered the emergency ward that day, they saw the usual things one would expect to see in a hospital. They saw piles of outdated magazines. They saw people waiting to get seen with limbs stuck out at odd angles or throwing up into a basin being held by a slightly nauseated looking companion. They saw the reception desk with a nursing sister behind it with an air of calm professionalism like all this sickness and misery was nothing new to her.

They saw a man in a chair a few feet away from the reception desk, quite alone. They looked away. And then they did a double take when they managed to process exactly what they were seeing.

The first thing they would notice would be the blood that stained his clothes all over. From there, the more keen observer would note that the man himself had no such injuries that would cause such a lot of blood loss and that the blood could not possibly belong to him.

He looked like he'd just escaped the set of a bad slasher flick, but not even the greatest actor in the world could have faked the despair his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the opposite wall and he seemed oblivious to the whispers and stares he was attracting, for even as his body sat in the hallway, his mind was in the operating theatre with Lisbon as she fought for her life. She had to claw her way back from the dark place he himself had sent her to and he hoped her fighting spirit would not fail her now, when she needed it the most.

She had to survive this. She had to. He didn't care what happened to him from here on out, but he couldn't let her pay the price for his moment of insanity.

As he thought about it now, he could not understand how he had done that. How could all the love and trust he had for her just be erased from his memory so quickly? How could years of working side by side become an insignificant side note to his murderous rage in a split second?

Her scream. That terrible scream that he dearly hoped he would never have to hear again in his life.

"Sir?"

The redheaded nurse was back. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I understand that you're distressed," she said in hushed tones, "but your wife won't be out of surgery for a while. Maybe you'd like to go and get yourself cleaned up? There's a restroom just down the hall."

"She's not my wife," he said, in a disembodied voice that was not his own. His wife indeed. It was an insult to her for the nurse even to suggest it. As if a sadistic creature like himself would ever deserve someone as wonderful as Lisbon. He wasn't fit to shine her shoes, let alone be her husband.

"I'm sorry," said the nurse. "I saw your ring and I thought-" She pointed at Jane's left hand.

"You thought wrong!" he snapped at her. "You should be more cautious about making assumptions. Not a good idea."

Apparently she had been in this line of work for a while, as she didn't get upset, accepting the outburst with a good grace.

"Once again, my apologies," she went on calmly. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." She returned to her desk.

* * *

For the lack of anything better to do, and unable to sit still a moment longer, Jane eventually did shuffle his way down the hall to the restroom. He pushed open the door, grateful that there was nobody else inside and proceeded across the room to one of the sinks.

Blood everywhere. On his hands, his clothes, his face, even some through his hair from when he'd run his fingers through it in frustration. Two sets of blood covered him and neither was his own. Some from the devil that had been Red John, some from the angel that was Teresa Lisbon. Her precious blood. Another flashback to that scene, feeling her breaths becoming less and less as her life ebbed away, her eyes closing and refusing to open again.

He retched, feeling his body heaving as he bent over the sink. Her scream was still resonating inside his head, like a broken record that he couldn't turn off.

He pulled off his ruined suit jacket and threw it aside, turned the tap on full blast and felt the sudden shock of the cold water as he scrubbed furiously at his hands. He pushed the soap dispenser again and again until his hands were overflowing with the liquid. As he rinsed it away, the water ran red.

From his pocket he drew out her necklace and held it under the gushing water. The pressure dislodged the blood that was still on it, until it was flawlessly silver once again. He wiped it dry on his pants. Now all there was left to do was put it back where it belonged, around her neck.

* * *

Back in his chair, his attention was caught by the sound of the doors opening. One of the doctors who had been rushing her into surgery emerged, pulling off his mask.

He sprang to his feet and accosted the surgeon before he could walk another step.

"How's she doing?"

"They're still working on her," he said. "The wound was deep and the blood loss is significant."

"Is she going to make it?" Jane pressed.

The surgeon paused. The years of medical training he'd undertaken had done little to prepare him for the realities of dealing with the families of his patients. Was it better to give them hope, or to start preparing them for the worst? Every case was different, every patient unique.

This young woman was healthy and strong, but the severity of her injuries afforded no guarantee that she would pull through. In the end, he put it as truthfully as he could.

"She's not out of the woods yet. You should be prepared."

Jane wanted to grab the doctor, shake him, tell him he was wrong, wrong, a thousand times wrong. She was no ordinary woman, she'd beaten the odds before and she could do it again, and what the hell was he doing wasting time out here when he should be in there, saving her life?

But he didn't. He merely nodded silently and backed away, the doctor's words ringing in his ears.

Be prepared. How could one ever possibly prepare for something as horrible as the death of a loved one? No matter if it was sudden, like a car accident or a long time coming like a terminal illness, it was always a shock, it turned your whole world upside down and it made you wonder if the human race was ever meant to survive the gut-wrenching pain you were in.

When he'd lost his family, everything had been a blur for a while. More than once in the first few days after the murders, he'd seriously considered just ending it. The pain was so raw, so intense, that he'd thought he'd never be able to feel anything else ever again. Gradually over time, the pain turned into anger and suddenly, his life had purpose again. Murderous, evil purpose, mind you, but enough to give him a reason to even bother getting up in the morning.

And then she had come along, and he'd found his life had reshuffled itself once again. There'd suddenly been faint glimmers of hope in amongst the despair. Every so often there were moments of laughter and light to counteract the overwhelming darkness.

There had to be something more the doctors could do for her. They could try experimental drugs or herbal remedies or even ritualistic fire dances for all he cared, so long as he could walk into her room at the end of it all and see her sitting up in bed, see those eyes flick towards him again, probably plotting a slow and painful death for him, but alive. It was the only thing he cared about now, everything else was meaningless.

* * *

He looked around, but the doctor was nowhere to be seen. He leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and let his mind wander. It landed on a time some years ago, before all this madness had happened.

It was just after they'd started working together and they were visiting a victim's family. It had been raining hard that day, and so the ground was sodden and dotted here and there with puddles.

She'd been wearing a green sweater, he recalled, a deep, emerald green that matched her eyes to a tee. Her hair had been twisted up at the back of her head with a plain black barrette. She was scowling as they walked out of the house together; he'd been a little blunt with the family, with the result that they'd been asked to leave without any information.

"What the hell is your problem?" she'd snapped at him as the door shut behind them. "Those people aren't your toys to play with and torture, they're in real pain."

"The sooner they can start accepting what's happened, the sooner they can begin to heal," he'd told her matter-of-factly. Early in their partnership, he was still testing out the boundaries of exactly how far he could push her before the point of no return. They went down the stairs of the front porch and ended up standing next to the Suburban.

"You hypocrite. If you call your little vigilante mission you've got planned a healing process I think you need another trip to the spiritual retreat" she'd said. He'd been surprised at her unwillingness to tiptoe around him like many of her colleagues, whom would never have dared to mention his past to him so bluntly, if at all. He'd been impressed by her candour.

"Everyone finds comfort in different ways," he said. "While my more unorthodox approach doesn't work for everyone, I reserve the right to grieve in any way I please."

She'd walked right up to him, into his personal space and spoken in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Jane, you are not the first person ever to have lost people you love, and I can guarantee that you won't be the last. I am truly sorry for what happened to you, but it's no excuse for the way you behaved in there. You don't just work for yourself now, you work for me and what you do reflects on me as well."

"Who died that you know?" he asked then, studying her face. He'd never been this close to her before and now that he was, he hadn't been able to help noticing that she was rather attractive. He supposed her slightly aggressive demeanour drew one's attention away from her more alluring features most of the time, but she was certainly not lacking in the looks department. "It must have been someone close to you…a sibling or a parent perhaps?"

She stepped sharply back from him. "That's none of your business," she snapped again. "Because you see, unlike you, I don't feel the need to publicize the skeletons in my closet every chance I get."

"Ah," he said, lowering his voice. "But you do admit there are skeletons. That's very interesting."

"If you like the shape of your nose the way it is, then keep it out of my private life," she said sharply. "Don't think that just because Minelli gave you a job, you're untouchable. We do things my way. Got it?

"A stirring and impassioned speech Agent Lisbon," he said dryly. "You've been practising that one since you were what, twelve?" He shot her a smile as she glowered at him. "You needn't worry, I don't need to poke around much when it comes to you. Your body language is telling me everything I need to know."

Far from calming her down, this insight served only to make her even angrier. "The only thing you need to know is this," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "Don't cross me, or I swear you will regret it."

"Is that a threat Agent Lisbon?" he enquired, stepping forward to close the gap between them. She stood her ground.

"You're the psychic," she said in that low, menacing voice he'd become so familiar with over the years. "You tell me."

That was the moment when he'd first suspected that in Teresa Lisbon, he'd got more than he had bargained for. His previous experience with police work had lead him to the conclusion that cops were pretty much all cut from the same cloth. But there was something about this one that made him question that notion. He had a feeling that she might just be different.

And she'd been proving him right ever since.

* * *

"Jane!" The voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He looked around and saw three people coming towards him. Cho, his face as impassive as ever, Van Pelt, pale and worried-looking, and Rigsby, trying to keep it together but given away by his shaking hands.

A glance at the clock on the wall told Jane he'd been here for nearly three hours now. This was the part he'd been dreading, explaining to the team what had happened. Part of him really didn't want to tell them; he wanted as few people as possible to hear of his betrayal, but in his heart of hearts he knew he had no choice.

"What happened to Lisbon?" asked Cho the moment they reached him, never one to beat about the bush.

"Is she going to be all right?" asked Van Pelt at the same time.

Looking for any reason to put off the inevitable just a little longer, Jane responded to her question first.

"They took her into theatre as soon as we got here. I haven't seen her since, but I talked to her doctor and he said she's hanging in there, for now."

"Of course she is," said Rigsby, trying to sound confident. "That's Lisbon." He gave a weak smile, and Van Pelt too, looked heartened. Cho's expression did not change, as if it were carved out of stone.

"What happened to her?" he repeated, eyes boring into Jane's, giving him the horrible feeling that he might suspect something.

"It's a long story," said Jane, playing for time.

"Nobody's going anywhere for a while," said Cho as he and the other two sank into chairs. "Start talking."

An odd thing happened then. At Cho's words it was like a floodgate inside Jane had suddenly opened and before he knew what he was doing, it all came spilling out. The letter on his door. The sudden rush of blinding panic when he read it. Calling her that night and how hearing her voice had made up his mind. The beginning of the Sterling case. Performance reviews. Promising her so faithfully that this time he was going to play it straight.

He'd been carrying all this within himself for so long now that it was like some of the weight was being lifted from his shoulders as he talked.

The story went on. The altercation with Robertson the fisherman and Lisbon getting in trouble. Being left behind at the office while she went to pursue new leads. Those photos Red John had taken of her. The second message. Waiting on tenterhooks for her to come back to the office and the overwhelming relief when she finally had. Breaking into her office and their subsequent fight. Sabotaging the operation at Tovis's, the way she'd slapped him after she'd been fired. The third message, when he found out she'd been taken.

A stunned silence greeted this news, eventually broken by Cho.

"How long did he have her for?" he asked, glaring accusingly at Jane.

"Almost a week," said Jane. Van Pelt gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "But I didn't know until today."

"And why the hell didn't you tell us?" Cho demanded to know, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"There wasn't time. As soon I figured out where he was holding her I went straight away."

"I don't just mean about that," said Cho. "You should have told us everything right from the start."

"I wanted to," Jane said. "I really did, but I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping you guys out of it."

"Are you insane?" Rigsby said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Look, if Red John had even suspected me of double-crossing him I'm sure he would've killed her. I couldn't take that risk."

"We could've protected her," said Rigsby.

"No you couldn't!" Jane exploded. "Don't you remember Bosco and his team, slaughtered in our own house? One way or another, he would've gotten to her and she'd be dead by now. I was trying to keep her safe!"

"Yeah and you sure did a fantastic job of that," said Rigsby sarcastically. "Do you not see where we are?"

"Rigsby's right, Jane," said Van Pelt, speaking for the first time. "This was way too big for you to handle on your own, you should've told us."

Jane felt like a disobedient child being scolded by his parents and felt suddenly angry with them all. What right did they have to lecture him like this? He was certain that if any one of them had been in his position they'd have done exactly the same thing. Anyway, he really didn't need their disapproval right now; his own guilt was doing a good enough job of eating him up from the inside, all on its own.

"There's no point getting mad at me now," he snapped at them all. "It's done."

Rigsby looked like he wanted to argue some more but Cho silenced him with a look. "Tell us the rest," he told Jane.

He'd come too far to stop now, so Jane drew a deep breath and launched into the rest of the story.

Arriving at the house to find her weak but alive, Red John telling him that to get to him he'd have to kill her first.

Van Pelt went pale at this, Rigsby swore under his breath and kicked the chair next to him.

This was it. The moment of truth. In a flat sort of voice, and not making eye contact with anyone, he described the way he'd held the knife over her but hadn't been able to do it. How he and Red John had fought. How he'd somehow managed to get the upper hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Van Pelt reach for Rigsby's hand.

He told them about the gunshot and the realization of what Lisbon had done. Try as he might, he couldn't quite explain the pounding fury that had overcome him as he described the way he had run at her, and…

He couldn't even bear to think it, let alone say it.

Rigsby let out a strangled sort of yelp and Van Pelt gripped his hand even harder, making it obvious to Jane that they had connected the dots, that his ultimate treachery had finally been revealed.

Tears glistened in Van Pelt's eyes, and she was squeezing Rigsby's hand so hard now that he was wincing in pain.

"How could you?" she asked Jane, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. Then, quite abruptly, she let go of Rigsby's hand and fled down the hallway towards the bathroom. Pausing just long enough to throw Jane a look of deepest loathing, Rigsby dashed after her.

Jane could feel Cho's gaze on him as if he were under a microscope. Slowly, he lifted his head to meet his eyes. No longer impassive, Cho's entire body seemed to be shaking with fury and he fixed Jane with a glare so menacing, Jane half expected to be burnt to a crisp on the spot.

* * *

Never in all his years of having known him, had Jane ever seen Cho look so angry. It was in that instant he began to truly grasp the deep-seated loyalty Cho had for Lisbon, and if that weren't enough, he certainly got the picture when the other man punched him.

Jane crashed to the ground, spluttering for breath as the hard punch to his guts had knocked the wind out of him. He heard a woman shriek and several pairs of running feet as hospital security guards rushed forward. Cho made no attempt to fight them off as they grabbed at him, instead looking down at Jane gasping on the floor with total disgust as if he were something repulsive that had just crawled out of the mud.

"All right you," the burliest of the security guards snarled at Cho. "Outside. This is a hospital not an underground fight club." Between the four of them they started to haul him towards the door.

"Wait," Jane managed to choke out, holding onto a chair leg to help him pull himself to his feet. "Let him go."

The guards all exchanged puzzled looks.

"You sure?" the burly one asked.

"Yeah," Jane coughed. "It's OK. Just a little misunderstanding amongst friends." He attempted a smile, but had a feeling it may have come out as more of a grimace.

Reluctantly, the guards released Cho and returned to their posts, all the while muttering to one another and casting furtive looks over their shoulders at the two of them.

When they were alone again, Jane turned to Cho who was still regarding him with that same look of revulsion. He had no idea what he could possibly say to make this situation any better but still, he had to try.

"Look," he began. "I know I deserved that, and a whole lot more besides, but you've got to believe me when I say I didn't know what I was doing. I just lost control for a split second and then…" He trailed off, still not able to bring himself to say it out loud.

Cho made no reply, so Jane found himself ploughing on.

"You can't possibly hate me more than I hate myself right now. She's my world Cho, I never imagined I could do something so terrible to her…It's all my fault, I shouldn't have let her get dragged into this. It was Red John, you know he makes me crazy…and he threatened her and it was like suddenly I couldn't think straight."

He couldn't remember the last time he had talked this much, it was like all the words were crowding around, pushing and shoving each other to escape from his lips. He knew he probably wasn't making a whole lot of sense as he garbled on and on but somehow, he had to make Cho understand. If he couldn't do that, then how on earth was he going to explain himself to the only person in this whole mess who truly mattered?

Assuming of course, that she survived. A wave of dread passed through him and he tried desperately to shake it off. He mustn't think like that. She was going to be OK. She had to be.

Without warning, Cho cut across his stream of explanations.

"How does it feel?" he asked, and Jane was forced to bring his monologue to an abrupt halt.

"What?" he asked.

"Now that Red John's dead," Cho explained. "Is it everything you were hoping for?"

The question took Jane off-guard. Apart from the few moments right after it had happened, he hadn't really had time to process the sudden demise of his nemesis.

But now as he thought about it, the full weight of this realization slammed into him with the force of a semi-trailer.

It was over. Red John was gone, never able to hurt anybody else ever again. It was what he had been working towards all these long years. Even though it hadn't gone down the way he'd planned, still, it was done.

So why didn't he feel jubilant? Why wasn't he dancing in the hallways, shouting out the news to anybody who cared to listen?

Instead, he felt empty. For what had it brought him? His wife and daughter were still dead, and seeing their killer getting what he deserved didn't make him miss them any less. The ache inside him was still there, the only change that it had increased a hundredfold, with the knowledge that he may very well have just sent his beloved Lisbon to the same fate.

He was repeating the same mistakes as all those years ago, Pride, ego and arrogance had gotten his family killed, and pride, ego and arrogance had been the driving force behind the knife that he had stabbed her with, because he'd been unable to accept the fact that she had beaten him to it.

He hadn't even paused to think why she would have done so; he'd just unleashed his rage on her like a madman. If only he had taken a moment to think rationally, he would've realized, as he was doing now, that she'd been trying to save him. Save him from becoming a killer, descending to the level of the one he had hunted so passionately. Save him from a prison sentence. Save him from spending the rest of his days alone with nothing but bitter memories for company.

Essentially, she'd been trying to save him from the greatest danger he could possibly encounter…himself.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Cho noticed.

"You put her through hell all these years because you knew she'd keep coming back for more, thinking she could fix it. You've brought her nothing but misery."

Jane knew all this already of course, but hearing it from Cho just made it a million times worse.

"You know what you are, Jane?" Cho went on. "You're like poison. All you've ever done is cause her pain. I hope you can live with that."

Jane had no answer for that, and was spared from finding one by the reappearance of Van Pelt and Rigsby, holding hands once again. Van Pelt was wiping tears out of her red-rimmed eyes with the other hand while Rigsby muttered consoling words to her under his breath.

* * *

From somewhere behind them now, they heard the unmistakeable sound of somebody clearing their throat. They all spun around to come face to face with the doctor Jane had spoken to earlier. He looked exhausted, his skin pallid, presumably due to the hours he spent indoors every day, under the artificial lights of the operating theatre.

"You're all here for Teresa Lisbon?" he asked, and they nodded in unison.

Jane searched the doctor's face for any clue to what they were about to hear. Was it good news or bad news? Had she been given a second chance or had he succeeded in erasing the single most wonderful person he'd ever known from this earth?

"She's out of surgery," the doctor said, in the cool, professional tone Jane thought they must all be taught at medical school. "She lost a lot of blood, but luckily, the knife didn't nick any major organs or arteries. It took a while to stop the bleeding, but we got there in the end."

Jane heard Rigsby sigh with relief, but he wasn't yet convinced. Before he allowed himself to celebrate, he had to be sure.

"Is she going to be all right?" he asked.

The doctor paused, and the tension returned.

"She's dehydrated, malnourished, covered in small cuts and abrasions in addition to the stab wound. If she hadn't been brought to us when she had, it might have been too late." He heaved a deep sigh. "But as long as she rests and doesn't overexert herself for a while, I expect her to make a full recovery."

Relief washed over Jane with such strength that he had to sit down. She was alive! Even with the odds stacked so dramatically against her, she'd done it again, pulled off the impossible and come out the other side. If he hadn't known already how extraordinary she was, this would have confirmed it.

Van Pelt flung her arms joyfully around Rigsby's neck, both of them laughing in relief as Cho, grinning as Jane had never seen him grin before, wrung the doctor's hand and thanked him over and over.

Jane chuckled as Van Pelt released Rigsby only to hug Cho, and then the doctor who looked very taken aback, but pleased too. Jane supposed being accosted by beautiful, slightly over-emotional women must be one of the better perks of his job.

Once Van Pelt had let go of him, the doctor, a little flushed, turned to Jane.

"Would you like to see her?"

So suddenly were the smiles wiped from the rest of the team's faces, it was like somebody had flipped a switch. Mercifully, the doctor didn't seem to notice.

"Is that allowed?" Jane asked carefully.

"For you, yes," the doctor answered, smiling at him.

"What do you mean?" asked Jane, bewildered. Why was he being singled out like this? Was she awake perhaps, and asking for him? Oh no. He hadn't even had time to plan what he was going to say to her yet.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, as if trying to work out whether or not Jane was joking. "Only immediate family are allowed into recovery," he said. "You're her husband aren't you?"

* * *

For the third time today, Jane's attention was brought to the ring on his left hand. He could feel the other's gaze on it too, like a spotlight suddenly illuminated it.

His ring. A symbol of a promise made, now fulfilled. And in his pocket, her necklace. A symbol of what he had so very nearly sacrificed in pursuit of that promise.

"Aren't you?" the doctor repeated, pointedly, apparently a little confused by his hesitation.

What should he say? Should he do the right thing and tell the truth, or should he add another lie to his ever-growing list? This could be his only chance to see her, to explain. He couldn't pass that up.

"Yes," he said defiantly, ignoring the glares of the others. "Yes, I'm her husband."

The doctor nodded, accepting this without question as if he dealt with bereaved people unsure of their marital status every day of the week.

"Would you like to see her?" he asked again.

"Yes," said Jane again. "Thanks."

The doctor smiled a little. "She might take a while to come around after the operation, but I thought you'd like to be there when she wakes up."

"I would," said Jane. "Very much."

The doctor nodded again. "I'll just go ask the sister what room she's in and then I'll take you to her."

He walked over to the desk and began to talk to the nurse behind it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rigsby demanded, as soon as the doctor was gone. "If you think we're letting you within a mile of her after what you did, you must be even more insane than I've always thought."

Van Pelt nodded her head in agreement, folding her arms over her chest, and Cho fixed Jane with that death glare again.

"Please," he said, his gaze jumping from one stony face to the next. "You have to let me do this."

"And why should we be doing you any favours?" asked Van Pelt, in a frosty kind of voice that Jane had never heard before.

"Look," he said. "If it helps, don't think of it as doing _me_ a favour, think of it as doing her one."

Rigsby scoffed.

"No seriously, when she wakes up the first thing she's going to want to know is what she's doing in a hospital. She's going to have questions, lots of them, and I'm going to have to be there to give the answers."

"I can fill her in," said Cho shortly. "Do yourself a favour and get out of here before I lose my temper and punch you a second time."

Jane shook his head. "I'm the one that caused all this. She deserves to hear it from me."

* * *

Five minutes later, he was following the doctor through the hospital corridors, having left the others glaring after them in the chairs by the reception desk.

"Ah, here we are," said the doctor, stopping at a door halfway down the hall. "She's got a room to herself."

Jane nodded, mentally preparing himself for the unpleasant talk that lay ahead.

"You don't need to be nervous," said the doctor, misinterpreting his silence. "She's a tough woman, your wife. She'll be up and about before you know it."

Jane forced a smile, thanked him and, taking a deep breath, stepped inside.

The curtains over the window were closed and a small lamp on the table at her bedside lighted the room. It looked like your typical hospital room, stark, bland, and characterless. White walls, white curtains, white bedsheets, white furniture, white pillows, over which cascaded a fan of dark hair.

He carefully got closer, as if she might suddenly sit up and start berating him for being in there. The bruises on her face and arms showed up even clearer now under the strong light. Whether she'd put it there on purpose or it had gone there itself, her right hand was resting over the spot on her stomach where the wound must be. She was going to have a scar now, and even if he never actually saw it, he'd know it was there, a constant reminder of this terrible day.

She was breathing the slow, rhythmic breaths of deep sleep, and every so often there was a rustling sound as she shifted her body a little to the left or right.

* * *

To Jane's amazement, she almost looked peaceful, despite the disfiguring marks all over her body. Only once before had he ever seen her sleeping.

He'd poked his head into her office one evening to say goodnight, to find her curled on her couch, fast asleep. They'd been working a hard case, involving children in foster care, and true to form, she'd pushed herself and pushed herself until she'd quite literally, dropped.

He remembered smiling at her as she dreamed, seeing her shiver in the cold air that came through a crack in her window. As quietly as he could, he had shut the window, taken off his jacket and tucked it around her.

He'd never thought she was more beautiful than at that moment, all the weight and worry off her shoulders, even just for a little while.

When he arrived back the next morning, it was to find his jacket neatly folded on his couch with a note pinned to it, bearing only a single word.

_Thanks._

* * *

She murmured something in her sleep and he slipped into the chair beside her bed. He drew the necklace from his pocket again and put into her left hand that rested on top of the covers. Her fingers closed around it.

Overtaken by a sudden impulse, he stood up again and gently kissed her forehead. It didn't seem like enough, so he placed a kiss on each of her eyelids as well.

He didn't know what he hoped to achieve by this, this was not a fairytale after all, but somehow it made him feel a little less inadequate. Since he had already begun, it stood to reason that he should finish the job now, and so he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

In spite of himself, he looked over her features to see if she responded but was unsurprised when she didn't. She needed to regather her strength, and anyway, Teresa Lisbon had always done things by her own schedule. She'd wake when she was ready and not one moment sooner.

And when she did, he'd be here.

* * *

Jane wasn't sure what had woken him the next morning. It may have been the strange position he'd got himself into as he slept that would make a professional contortionist proud. It may have been the annoying way the sun was beating down on his face through the curtain. It may have been the woman in the next room, shrieking for the nurse at a decibel that must surely be illegal for this time in the morning.

But it seemed he was not the only one who had received a rude awakening.

He could hear Lisbon mumbling to herself and he painfully managed to untangle his limbs and stand beside the bed.

She'd slept fitfully last night, crying out and whimpering as whatever nightmarish monsters in her mind assailed her dreams. Twice, he'd been on the point of waking her up, just so he wouldn't have to hear her wails anymore, it hurt too much to know that he'd been the cause of them. Both times however, she had gone quiet again after a few seconds and settled back down again.

She was stirring now, tossing and turning and after a few seconds opened her eyes, gazing blearily upwards. Jane felt a smile cross as his face as his favourite pair of eyes in the world finally opened once again.

She sighed, and blinked a few times.

"Welcome back," he said quietly, as she yawned. "You gave us all a scare."

She moaned as the bright sunlight hit her eyes, so he quickly moved into its path to block it out.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I'm in a white room, with Patrick Jane standing over me, smiling," she said, her voice coarse and scratchy. "I must be in hell."

* * *

**I'll be the first to admit this chapter was not my best work, but it's been so long since I updated, I thought I should get something up.**

**This chapter was kind of a filler I know, but in the next one, Jane will finally have to face Lisbon, and a few sparks will fly.**


	12. If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too?

**I know, I know. It took forever to write this chapter. I shall spare you my excuses and just get straight into the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own it in a box. I do not own it with a fox. I do not own it here or there. I do not own it anywhere. (I also do not own the quote I just borrowed.)**

* * *

If he didn't think it rude to contradict someone who had only just come back from the brink of death, Jane would've had no hesitation in disagreeing with Lisbon's assessment of the current situation.

He had personal experience of hell after all. He'd been living it for the last few days.

Over the last twenty-four hours alone, he had been almost totally convinced, on three separate occasions, that he had lost her. Each time, the same icy dread had settled over him that had chilled him to his very core, and he'd been forced to face the mind-numbing possibility that she might not come back, that this time when she left him, she'd be gone for good.

That was the true meaning of hell.

At this moment however, with the sunlight streaming in and casting a soft glow on everything in the room, and her looking up at him with that same expression of deepest suspicion she'd been using on him for all these years, in his eyes, there wasn't much wrong with the world.

Thoughts of Red John and the rest of the team and possible jail sentences seemed to shrink away into nothingness for a moment, and he allowed himself to revel in the simple joy of knowing that she was all right, that she'd made it through.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Oh fantastic," she snapped. "Of all the places in the world I'd like to wake up, a hospital tops the list."

He had to force himself not to smile. As much as he would love to get into one of their arguments again, just because he'd missed it so much since they'd been separated, it was probably not in his best interests to upset her before he had to.

"Well it certainly beats the alternative," he said, mildly.

"Which is what?"

"You might not have woken up at all."

She had no retort for that, and he turned his back on her to fuss with the curtains, so she wouldn't see the way his hands shook. His initial happiness drained away as quickly as it had come. Saying it out loud made him fully appreciate what a close call this incident had been. Too close.

When he turned back to face her again, she was examining her left hand with a faint note of surprise on her face.

Her necklace fell out of it and onto the covers. She looked questioningly up at Jane, who pondered how to explain this without giving too much away.

"Figured that it couldn't hurt," he said.

"But you don't believe in-"

"But you do."

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't press the matter, for which he was grateful. He knew she had to find out the truth soon but he couldn't just drop it on her out of nowhere. The subject had to be approached with caution and nuance.

There was a tap on the door, and the doctor from last night came into the room, with a smile.

"Ah, Mrs Lisbon, you're awake."

Jane winced at the "Mrs." He had completely forgotten about telling the doctor that they were married, and this was the not the way he would have picked for Lisbon to find out.

To her credit, her face betrayed her shock for only a split second, before she recovered.

"Just call me Teresa," she said sweetly to the doctor, smiling at him. He nodded and consulted her chart at the foot of the bed. Lisbon took the opportunity to narrow her eyes threateningly at Jane, who understood that to mean there would be hell to pay once the doctor had left.

The doctor replaced the chart and proceeded to give Lisbon a cursory examination, while Jane watched. After a few minutes he put down his stethoscope.

"I think I'd better take a look at your stomach," he said. "Check that everything is healing the way it should be."

Carefully, he began to lift the dressings and when the last bandage came away, Jane had to physically restrain himself from vomiting. The wound was not long, but it was deep, an angry red against her pale skin and there was heavy bruising all around it.

He had done this to her.

He looked up from the stomach-turning sight to see Lisbon's eyes widen with horror. He could tell her head was brimming with questions, but was forcing herself not to ask them just yet. Her gaze met Jane's. He could see her eyes searching his face, taking in his revulsion but total lack of surprise, and he was sure that she had deduced that he knew something about this that she didn't.

The doctor who had noticed nothing of this exchange, reached over to open a pack of fresh bandages. "The bruising and swelling should go down in a few days," he said. "But I'm afraid it will leave a scar."

"Just one more to add to the collection, I guess," she said, with an unconvincing air of carelessness.

The doctor smiled again, but said nothing as he concentrated on redressing the wound. Jane however, was lost in thought about what she had just said. Exactly how many scars did Lisbon have? Some undoubtedly from work of course, but were there also a few relics from her troubled childhood too?

"I'll look in on you this evening," the doctor said, as he got ready to leave. "If everything's on track I'll make arrangements to have you discharged tomorrow morning. Until then, I'm going to keep you on IV fluids and an antibiotic just in case."

Lisbon nodded, though Jane doubted she had taken in more than a few words of what he'd just said.

"Thank you doctor," Jane said, fervently. "For everything."

"That's what I'm here for. I'll send a nurse in to take care of the IV as soon as I can." With that, he left the room.

* * *

"Mrs Lisbon?" came the snarl from behind Jane as soon as the door had closed. "Something you want to tell me Jane?"

Jane took a moment to decide how to tackle this rather delicate issue. In the end, he decided on the truth, or part of it.

"I may have had to tell a tiny little white lie for him to let me see you. Immediate family only."

"You couldn't say you were my brother or my cousin or some other kind of _non-husband_-" she heavily emphasised the word- "family member?"

"That would never work, Lisbon. I don't look a thing like you." He paused to give her a chance to dispute this, and took her silence as her inability to do so. "Look, I was kind of forced into it anyway. He saw my ring and drew a conclusion, what was I supposed to say?"

"Let's see," she said in a tone of mock-concentration. "Perhaps the word 'no' would've been a good place to start."

"And what good would it have done me?" he asked, slightly irritated now. "They wouldn't have let me in then, all I wanted was to see if you were OK."

"Oh, so now you care what happens to me?" she said, raising her voice a little.

"Of course I care," said Jane quietly. "I've always cared."

"Yes, well nothing says tender loving care like attempted murder," said Lisbon flatly.

Jane felt as shocked if she'd suddenly gotten out of bed and clocked him over the head with the bedside lamp. So much for subtlety. This was Lisbon all over, throwing down the gauntlet and forcing him to confront things that he would much, much rather avoid. She'd always been the type to tackle difficult things head-on, whereas he preferred to skirt around the tough questions, piling lies onto lies onto lies, so that in the end, people stopped asking just to simplify things.

But something told him there would be no getting around this one.

"So what was the plan?" she asked. "Going to do some stupid mentalist mind-trick on me to try and make me forget were you? Or were you going to try and convince me that it was all for my own good? Or were you just going to avoid the subject completely and hope I didn't bring it up?"

She sounded neither upset, nor angry as she said this, merely a mild kind of curiosity as if whatever he said could not possibly surprise her anymore.

"Of course not," he said, "I came here to explain." It sounded so feeble. He racked his brains in an attempt to figure out where he could possibly begin. Everything was jumbled up in his head, presenting itself to his consciousness at random, with no rhyme or reason.

She chuckled humourlessly. "You don't have to explain."

Jane's thoughts came to a screeching halt. Surely, he must have misheard her.

"I…don't?" he asked, tentatively.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I shot Red John. I took away your big revenge plan. You were mad. I get it."

Only Teresa Lisbon could be so blasé about discussing her own near-death.

* * *

Cautiously, he took a step towards her. She turned her green eyes on him, but allowed him to approach. With each step he took, he expected something to happen, for her to yell or perhaps just to break his nose (for he wouldn't put it past her to still be able to cause him terrible injury despite her weakened state,) but she simply watched him beadily like a bird of prey until he sat down beside her.

"It's not as straightforward as that, Lisbon."

"Oh no?" she said. "Well then go ahead, enlighten me."

Jane took a deep breath. "You've got to understand I never, ever wanted you to get hurt."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right. And that part worked out exactly according to plan, didn't it?"

Without thinking, he reached out and seized her hand. "Lisbon, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything." She snatched it back from him.

"No you aren't."

"But I am! You've got to believe me, I've never regretted anything so much since I lost my family."

"Jane, stop. Just stop." She turned her head away from him, blinking furiously. "I can't handle this anymore. The lies, the scamming, it's just too much." She looked back at him again. "I'd like you to leave now."

Obviously, approaching the subject with care wasn't getting him anywhere with her and he had to make her understand. It was time to get tough.

"Lisbon you are going to hear me out whether you like it or not. Afterwards you can have me thrown out of the room if you like but until then, just listen."

"Uttering threats now are we?" she said in a bored kind of voice. "Bit of a step down don't you think? Why not just stab me again and be done with it? Or are you losing your nerve?"

"Don't joke about that."

"Why not? I'm just adopting the same attitude that you seem to have towards my life; total indifference."

It wasn't what she was saying that was distressing him so; it was that he could see that she truly believed it. How had he managed to take the single most important person in his life and alienate her like this?

"That's not true."

"Sure it's not," she said.

He took a deep breath.

"Please. Let me explain."

"And why the hell should I? The only reason you're doing it is to try and justify your jackassery and make yourself feel better. You don't give a damn about me."

"For God's sake woman, would you just listen!" he snapped, louder than he had intended as his frustration reached boiling point. When she didn't immediately retort, apparently taken aback by his sudden outburst, he seized his chance.

"The only reason all this happened was because I was trying to protect you."

She made a scornful kind of noise, but he carried on before she could interrupt.

"A few weeks ago, I received a message from Red John. He gave me a choice between having you thrown from the CBI or him killing you."

"Oh, come on," she said. "Even for you Jane, that lie is pathetic. Why would he have put himself at risk like that?"

"He always saw you as a threat," Jane went on, unperturbed. "He made that clear in the letter he wrote." He couldn't keep the pride out of his voice as he said this. Red John, his tormentor of so many years had seen Lisbon as an equal, a real rival. "And remember Hardy last year, when he tried to kill you? I'd bet my next paycheque that Red John told him to get you out of the way."

He could tell she was trying to suppress a grin at these words but decided not to call her on it, pretending he hadn't seen.

"Anyway, like I said, he gave me a choice. And I picked the lesser of two evils."

"Jane what gives you the right to make decisions about my life? I accept the risks of my job, if Red John had tried to get me than maybe we could finally have caught him."

"And what if he'd succeeded?" he said. "You'd be dead and I can tell you right now that we wouldn't have caught him. What good would that have done me?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's right, typical Jane, making everything about you."

"No Lisbon, it's about you. You want to know the main reason why I did what I did? I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you."

An uncomfortable silence fell and Jane got the feeling that he'd just blurted out a lot more than he had intended. Lisbon was wearing a half-bewildered, half suspicious kind of look as if she didn't believe what she had just heard.

He reached for her hand again, slower than before, and this time, pre-empting the action, she pulled her hand away and put it under the covers.

"Rubbish," she said. "You know as well as I do that the only reason you went ahead with the plan was so you could have a free shot at Red John. Admit it."

She just wasn't getting it. It was getting to the point now where Jane wondered if she was misunderstanding on purpose. Or even worse, had he done such a good job of convincing her that he didn't care about her, that she simply couldn't believe it anymore?

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of the reason I took it on," he conceded. "But I didn't even realize it until much later. When I read that letter, all I could think about was you."

She didn't argue this, but he could tell she didn't believe him. He figured she'd decided not to challenge anything he said, presumably in the hope of getting him to leave faster. The thought made him feel more depressed than ever.

"You should have told me," she said.

He thought he could see some of the colour returning to her face as she visibly seethed at him. It was as if the argument was giving her strength, her annoyance with him bringing back the energy in her that he knew and loved. It made sense, in a strange way. Lisbon had always been at her most animated during their sparring matches, no matter how long or exhausting the day had been there'd always seemed to be enough fuel left in the tank to bicker with him for hours on end.

It was nice to see that fire in her coming back to her now.

"I wanted to," he said. "It was killing me that you were going out into the open without me being able to put you on your guard. Every time you were out of my sight for longer than five minutes I'd be petrified that you wouldn't come back again."

"Were the others all in on this as well?' she asked. He knew what she was thinking. She was wondering how many other people had betrayed her over the last few weeks.

Jane shook his head. "Up until about twelve hours ago, they had no idea about any of this."

"But they do now?"

"After I got you to the hospital, I called Cho. I told them the whole story when they arrived. They had a right to know."

"That's big of you," she said, sarcastically.

"They didn't take it too well. Van Pelt cried and I thought Rigsby was going to punch me." He let out a small chuckle. "Cho actually did."

That brought a tiny smile to Lisbon's face. She'd have to remember to buy her agent a drink for that one, when she got out of here.

"It's been tense around the office," he said. "The unit has been leaderless ever since you left."

"Since you got me fired you mean," Lisbon corrected him, not about to let him off the hook that easily. "And what do you mean leaderless? Why didn't Cho take over?"

"Hightower offered it to him, but he turned her down flat."

Lisbon felt a great surge of affection for her three agents, her surrogate family in the absence of her brothers. Up until recently, the man standing beside her had been part of that family as well, but as she looked up at him now, all she saw was a stranger.

He sank into the chair again. "I'm going to tell you everything," he said. "And all I ask is that you don't interrupt. You can rage and storm at me the instant I'm finished, but if don't get it all out at once, I never will, and you deserve the truth."

She glared at him. "And how do I know that you're not just going to lie to me again?"

"You don't," he said, simply. "But the Teresa Lisbon I know always hears people out before she makes a judgement. It's one of her best qualities." He couldn't stop a fond smile from crossing his face as he said this.

She didn't return it.

"OK," she said evenly. "I'm listening."

* * *

"We should have just arrested him on the spot," Rigsby said angrily, to nobody in particular as the team sat uncomfortably in chairs outside Lisbon's room. "He nearly murdered the boss, and we just let him waltz into her room like nothing ever happened. They should just take our badges away now!"

"He's not going anywhere," said Cho. "The windows are way too small to get out of and this is the only door. He'll have to come out sooner or later."

"And when he does," said Rigsby menacingly. "We'll throw him in the slammer where he belongs."

There was a silence as the agents thought about that. Jane always said that he was all about justice. Well, there was now a whole lot of justice coming his way.

Van Pelt got up abruptly and started pacing back and forth, wringing her hands.

"I don't see why we should have to wait for him," she said. "I say we just go in there and drag him out if we have to." The last few words came out as a kind of snarl. It was an interesting experience for the two men to see the usually mild-mannered Van Pelt so agitated. It was amazing what stress brought out in people.

"Lisbon needs closure," said Cho. "None of us can give her that; we weren't there."

"Sure we can, we know exactly what happened!" she snapped.

Rigsby shook his head. "No, we know exactly what Jane _says _happened," he corrected her. "We have no way of knowing if what he told us was the truth or just a pile of crap."

Van Pelt stopped pacing and sat back down.

"I don't think he was lying," said Cho shortly. "Why would he make up something that would only land him in trouble?"

"God only knows how his twisted little mind works," said Rigsby, resentfully.

"I wish the doctors would let us see her," said Van Pelt in a small voice. "I'd feel so much better if I knew she was OK."

Rigsby reached over and took her hand again.

"She'll be fine," he said "Even in hospital, I'd bet on her over Jane any day of the week."

"I know."

Conversations came to an end as all eyes turned towards the door again.

* * *

True to her word, Lisbon had not said anything as Jane told her his tale. She wouldn't have been able to talk even if she'd wanted to anyway; her mind was too busy trying to keep up.

It was the kind of story you would expect to find in a television soap opera and her first instinct was that this so-called 'explanation' was total rubbish that he'd cooked up after the fact.

But as it went on, pieces of it all started to fit together in her mind and to her great astonishment she found herself believing him. His odd behaviour over the last few weeks suddenly started making sense. That day when he'd forgotten the doughnuts, she'd noticed that he'd been on edge, remembered that he usually only got that way when Red John was involved. It also explained why she'd sometimes looked over at his couch to find him gazing at her for no particular reason. At the time, she'd attributed it to normal Jane weirdness, but in hindsight, she realized that there had been a mournful air about him as though he'd been steeling himself up for something big.

She remembered him cornering her by the elevator on the day she had been fired. How he had pleaded with her to listen, that he'd never wanted to hurt her, that he'd had no choice. She'd been so angry with him that even though she'd noticed the pain in his eyes, she didn't care.

It was like catching a break in a murder case. All of a sudden, everything started falling into place. But there were still things she didn't understand, and chief among them, the reason why he hadn't told her. All of this could have been avoided. She would still have a job. She could have been spared this fortnight's worth of misery. If only he had trusted her enough to open up to her. Red John would still be alive, and being dealt with in the courts. She would not have a wound in her stomach that was going to leave a scar. There might have been a chance for Jane to free himself of his past, and start to live again.

But now there could be no hope for that. No way to reunite their team, no way for herself and Jane to feel their way towards maybe taking their relationship further. Up until now, she had been certain she had long since given up on that, but if that was so, why had she sometimes caught herself thinking about what might happen after Red John was out of the picture? Deep inside, a tiny little part of her had still had faith. But now it was all gone.

* * *

Jane wound up the story and watched as she took it all in, with mounting guilt.

"I really am sorry, you know," he said. "I'm sorry for everything."

"You said that already."

"Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?"

"Not sure. You lied to me, you lost me my job, you almost murdered me. Those are big things to forgive."

"I know."

"And you swear that everything you told me just now is the truth?"

"Every word."

She nodded. "I don't think I'm going to be able to forgive you any time soon," she said. "You know what's weird though? The stabbing part doesn't bother me nearly as much as the fact that you don't seem to trust me." She let out a humourless chuckle. "Go figure, huh?"

"Of course I trust you," he protested. "With my life."

"So you expect me to believe you trust me with your life, when you don't even think I'm capable of running my own? You want full disclosure from me when you can't even see fit to warn me when there's a serial killer on the loose."

"I told you why I kept it to myself," he said a little defensively. "He would have killed you Lisbon."

"So you decided to save him the trouble and take care of it yourself," she said, gesturing towards her stomach.

The little movement made her wince with pain and he bit his lip and looked sadly at her.

"So, where do we go from here?' he asked.

"Honestly, I don't know," said Lisbon.

* * *

Jane didn't have many ideas either, but the one thing he was certain of was that from here on out, he would never allow himself to hurt Lisbon again. Unfortunately, there was only one foolproof way of making that happen. The only way he could be sure not cause her any more pain was to remove himself from her life completely, to simply disappear, so that the times that they had shared together eventually became a distant memory.

Cho had been right. He was a poison to her. He had infected her life, causing so much suffering, making things harder for her just by being around. And now it was time to find the antidote.

His eyes raked over her face. This wonderful woman who had made these years almost bearable, who had saved him time and time again, who had refused to give up on him even when he'd pushed her away. He'd been so immersed in his own issues for so long, that he had never truly appreciated how lucky he had been for her to stick around, supporting him, defending him, selfless to a fault. He owed it to her to give her life back.

Somehow, this was more excruciating than when he had said goodbye to her at the house as he wielded a knife. He didn't know how many times his heart had been shattered into a million tiny pieces but this was once more to add to the list. The idea of never seeing her again was torturous, but he forced the selfish thoughts of trying to repair their friendship away. She'd be better off this way.

When he managed to get past his own misery and petty desires, it all came down to one single, inescapable fact. He loved Teresa Lisbon more than anything, and he had to do everything in his power to make sure she got the life she deserved.

Even if it meant letting her go.

"The doctor said you should rest," he said, in a hollow sort of voice. "I should go, and let you get some sleep." There was no point putting off the inevitable.

She nodded. "I'd appreciate that."

A tense silence fell. What did you say to the woman you adored when you knew you were never going to see her again? Did you tell her everything you'd always wanted her to know? Did you tell her how her smile had become one of your favourite sights in the whole world? Did you tell her how your mood had lifted just by being near her?

Did you tell that you loved her?

For Patrick Jane the answer to all of the above, was no. It would only make this harder than it was already.

Instead he forced the corners of his mouth into a tiny smile.

"Rest up, and get better," he said.

She almost smiled back at him.

"I'll be fine."

"I know you will."

Something else he could be certain of. Whatever didn't kill her, made her stronger.

He allowed himself one last, lingering look as he turned and headed for the door, taking a mental snapshot that he could revisit no matter where life took him now. He didn't want to ever forget her.

'Bye Teresa,' he said, chancing the use of her given name. To his relief, she didn't say anything about it.

"Later, Patrick."

He pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.

He heard the sounds of people jumping to their feet, and the unmistakeable clicking sound of handcuffs. A calm, male voice finally spoke.

"Patrick Jane, you're under arrest for attempted murder."

* * *

Jane thought that there probably been a fair bit of dispute over which of the team was going to take his interview. Each of them would have had things they wanted to say to him after all and he was sure that they all had their own individual reasons to hate his guts right now. But he couldn't say he had been surprised when Cho had finally entered the room and taken the seat opposite.

Jane thought that being a team leader suited him, no matter how much he had resisted. If the team couldn't have their queen, than no one was better to run things than Cho.

"So," said Cho after a moment. "I'm going to be straight with you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

"I'll tell you everything you want to know," said Jane.

"Good."

"But before I do, we need to talk. Off the record."

"Except for the purposes of this interview Jane, we are done talking."

His expression hardened, but Jane stood his ground.

"Trust me you're going to want to hear this, and I'm not giving you a confession until you listen."

"We don't need a confession," said Cho. "I'm betting that at your place, there's a blood stained knife lying on the floor. Sounds like proof to me."

"A knife with _two _sets of prints on it," Jane countered. "One of them being from a known serial killer whose MO has him being pretty handy with a blade. You'll also notice when you test it that his blood is on it too. I stabbed him in the leg you see, out of self-defence, therefore explaining the presence of my prints on it."

"Except for the part where you tried to kill Lisbon with it," said Cho.

Jane took a deep breath. This was the tricky part. If he wanted his plan to work, he had to act totally indifferent despite the fact that he was practically overrun with guilt. He couldn't afford to get emotional.

It was time to harness his inner Cho.

"You don't have any proof of that but her word," said Jane. "And considering she's a former cop who's recently been fired for incompetence, do you really think a jury's going to believe her over a grieving husband and father, particularly when she believes the man in question had a hand in getting her fired?"

He hated himself for saying such things about Lisbon. She wasn't incompetent at all and saying that she was close to being sacreligious in his book. So far, Cho wasn't budging so it was time for Jane to play on the agent's affection for their boss, which while admittedly well-hidden, Jane was sure was there.

"You don't really want to make her sit in front of a courtroom and go over the whole thing again do you? Have people poking and prodding at her, asking questions. Wouldn't it be better just to end it all now?"

It was difficult pretending not to care, when in actuality he cared so much that he thought it might honestly destroy him.

Cho said nothing.

"Just turn those cameras off and talk to me Cho and I swear I will give you anything you want. I'll confess to everything. But you have to do this for me first, or you get nothing."

It was thirty long seconds before anything happened. Cho and Jane held each other's gaze, the latter making sure he wasn't the one to break it. Then, Cho looked up.

"Rigsby," he said, addressing the two-way mirror on the back wall. He made a slicing motion across his throat. Jane saw the red lights on the cameras suddenly go out, and if he strained his ears he heard the sounds of two people exiting the room beyond the glass. He had done it.

"All right, Jane," said Cho contemptuously. "This had better be good."

It was a great relief for Jane to drop the pretence of indifference and be miserable again.

"Charge me with all of it," he said.

Cho scoffed. "What, you thought we were going to let you off on some of it, just because you're such a great guy?"

"Look," said Jane. "I didn't kill Red John. He died of being shot in the head, and I never touched that gun. Besides, he took it from Lisbon's house, he told me so when he pulled it on me. If they dust it for prints, the only ones they'll find besides his is Lisbon's."

"Your point?"

"My point is that she's not a cop anymore Cho, she's a civilian! If they open up an enquiry into his death, she's facing a murder charge!"

Colour drained from Cho's face as he thought about that.

"She told me a million times that if I killed Red John, I'd have to face justice for it and I was fine with that. And I would've killed him Cho. I would have murdered the son of a bitch but she got in first. She was so focused on trying to stop me that she didn't think about what the consequences might be for herself."

"Sounds about right," said Cho. "She never did know when to stop sticking her neck out for you." He glared at Jane.

"I can't let her go down for this Cho," Jane said. "This is nobody's fault, least of all hers, and the only one to blame for this is me."

"You're not wrong there," said Cho. "So you're going to take all the blame for this? Everything?" he clarified.

Jane nodded, and Cho's eyes narrowed.

"In exchange for what?" he asked.

"Convince Hightower to let her have her job back."

"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" asked Cho. "She's the boss, she made up her mind. End of story."

"Does she know about all this?"

"Not yet. We wanted to wait until we had you in custody before we told her. Try to minimise the damage."

"Well go and tell her now," said Jane. "Tell her the whole story and if she gets even the slightest idea in her head that Lisbon might be at fault, tell her I hypnotised or blackmailed or threatened her or something. Make sure she thinks that I killed Red John. Tell her if she gets Lisbon back in the CBI we can deal with all this quietly, and then she can spin it to look like the agency got rid of him so she looks good in the press. It's a win-win for everyone."

"And if I do this, I have your word that you'll give me a full confession?"

"My word."

"All right."

And Cho got up and left the room.

* * *

The next morning found Lisbon struggling into clothes that Van Pelt had brought her in a bag. The wound to her stomach still hurt when she moved, but the doctor had said it was healing as well as could be expected and that provided she promised not to overdo it for the next few days, she was allowed to go home.

Unfortunately, the team had been visiting when he had told her this and had begun immediately discussing a rough roster of checking up on her when she got home to make sure she was obeying orders and not trying to push herself too hard on the sly. While she appreciated their concern, she had rather resented being talked about as though she were a porcelain doll and incapable of looking after herself. She'd been managing since she was twelve years old after all, and she'd had to bite her tongue to keep from mentioning it. And besides, didn't they all have work to do?

There was a knock on the door and a smiling nurse entered the room holding a clipboard and pen.

"You'll just need to sign these Mrs Lisbon," she said pleasantly, holding out the items.

Not bothering to correct the nurse on her title, Lisbon scribbled a signature at the bottom of each of the papers.

"Thank you," said the nurse, riffling through the pages. "I'll get these straight over to reception and have them discharge you. I'll come back and let you know when everything's through. It shouldn't take too long."

Lisbon noticed that she had neglected to give her a specific timeframe. Such was life in the public hospital system.

"Thank you," she said, managing a small smile.

"Not a problem," said the nurse, walking towards the door. "And by the way, you have a visitor."

Lisbon wondered at the identity of her mystery guest. To her annoyance her thoughts immediately went to Jane, whom she hadn't seen since he had left yesterday, and all the others had gone mysteriously deaf when she had asked after him.

The person who walked in however, was none other than Madeleine Hightower.

"Ah Teresa," she said, in her cool voice as she entered. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," said Lisbon, all the while wondering what her ex-boss was doing in her hospital room. Then it hit her. She'd killed Red John. She was under arrest.

Well Jane hadn't taken long to throw her to the wolves, she thought to herself. He wasn't taking any chances when it came to thoroughly destroying her life.

"Going home today?" asked Hightower as her eyes fell on the bag.

This was starting to freak Lisbon out. Hightower and herself in the same room, having a pleasant conversation? Maybe she was still on painkillers and this was all just a hallucination.

"No disrespect Agent Hightower, but what exactly are you doing here?" she asked. If she was about to be arrested, she wanted to get it over with.

Hightower chuckled. "OK Teresa, I'll cut to the chase. You've been reinstated."

Lisbon felt her jaw drop. "I-what?"

"As soon as you're fit for duty you're back in charge of Serious Crimes," said Hightower. "Agent Cho will take care of things until your return."

Lisbon couldn't speak as Hightower's words slowly sunk in. She wasn't under arrest. She wasn't even in trouble.

She was getting her job back.

"I'm going to assume by your silence that you accept the position," said Hightower, smiling and Lisbon nodded.

"Great," Hightower went on. "Give me a call when the doctor gives you the all-clear and I'll arrange a start date."

She headed for the exit.

"Wait!" Lisbon called after her, and she turned. "How?"

The smile left Hightower's face to be replaced by a surprised expression.

"Nobody told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Jane confessed."

"To what?"

Hightower raised her eyebrows.

"Deliberately sabotaging our case. Attacking you. Murdering Red John."

Lisbon scrambled for words. "He…but-"

"Confessed everything to Agent Cho yesterday afternoon. Told him the whole story, on tape. We won't even need to launch an official investigation."

"Where is he now?" asked Lisbon, finding her voice.

"He's been transferred to state prison, to await sentencing," said Hightower. "Hearing's been booked for next week."

Lisbon imagined her consultant in prison, probably lying on his bunk staring at the ceiling, missing his couch, or putting his cellmate in a trance, or maybe just sitting around waiting to die because he didn't have anything to live for anymore.

"And while we're on the subject, I want to apologize to you, Teresa. I thought that you were the problem, that the only reason Jane kept acting like a lunatic was your poor leadership skills. I was mistaken. The man is unhinged, and I never realized how much until yesterday. I doubt there'd be anybody who could have done a better job of keeping him in line than you did, and I hope you will forgive me for misjudging you."

"Of course," Lisbon said quietly. "Thank you."

Hightower smiled again. "That's thank you, ma'am," she corrected. "As of now I am your superior again."

Lisbon nodded.

Hightower looked at her watch. "I should go. I have a press conference in half an hour about all this. Welcome back to the CBI, Agent Lisbon."

She left.

* * *

Lisbon needed to sit down. She stumbled her way over to the bed and collapsed on it, trying to process everything that had just happened in the last twenty minutes.

She had her job back. She wasn't under arrest. She had literally just gotten away with murder. It went against everything she stood for; she had done the crime so she should do the time. But for the first time ever, Jane had taken the bullet for her.

Had he always planned on this happening or had he come up with it under pressure in the interrogation room?

He had lied to the team, lied to Hightower, lied to everyone, just for her. She never thought she'd live to see the day, but here it was. He was putting her first.

Her every instinct was to go to Hightower right away and tell her the truth, but there was a little voice inside holding her back. Maybe she shouldn't waste this chance that he had given her. Maybe she should just shut up, keep her head down and get back to what she did best, catching killers.

Jane had caused her a lot of trouble over the last couple of weeks and at times she'd wanted nothing more than to wring his neck. He caused her pain a thousand which ways, but now he had started to make up for it by doing this for her. Maybe he did care for her after all.

It was too bad that she was finally able to accept that when it was likely that she'd never see him again.

As of now, she would have to start getting used to walking into the office to an empty couch, no morning cup of coffee and one less person in the Suburban. It was time to readjust to life in the CBI without Patrick Jane. She was ashamed to admit that she barely recalled what it had been like to work there without him. She supposed it simply hadn't been worthy of remembrance.

If she could go back in time, she would have said a proper goodbye when he'd left yesterday. It just hadn't occurred to her that he might not be coming back. He always had before.

But now her future was no longer tied to Jane's. She could live her life, do her job, without the constant fear of being called into the boss's office to explain his crazy antics anymore.

Their lives were going in two different directions, and God only knew if they would ever cross paths again.

* * *

Curled up on his bunk in the cell he shared with a two-time armed robber, Jane tried to sleep. But it was hard to make his mind relax when he was trying so hard not to think of Lisbon.

But as always, she wormed her way into his thoughts and eventually he gave up the battle and just them play. After a time, he was able to stop thinking about her when he fell asleep.

He dreamed about her instead.

* * *

**I'm really pleased with this chapter, it's the longest I've ever written. (nearly 18 pages in Microsoft Word.) I really hope you enjoyed it. There will be one more chapter after this one, and I hope it won't take as long to write as this one.**


	13. Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

**Okay everyone, after a week's worth of devoting every spare moment to writing, I give you the final chapter of 'Puppeteer.'**

**It's a little different to the previous ones but I think you'll like it…or at least I hope you do.**

**Disclaimer: The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of other things. Like how I don't own the Mentalist, and cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot etc, etc, (borrowed from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland, which incidentally I also don't own.)**

* * *

After almost a week of rest and recuperation or 'pointless, mind-numbing monotony' as she had resentfully been calling it, Lisbon walked into the CBI for the first time in what had only been four weeks, but felt like forever.

She ignored the smiles and greetings of colleagues as she passed through the building. They all seemed to have conveniently forgotten how they had stood around the elevator on the day she had been fired, whispering to one another with badly disguised glee. She however, had not. She didn't think that she would ever quite forgive them all for the way that her life and career had been belittled and recycled for the purposes of the next day's water-cooler gossip.

When she got upstairs however, her bad mood with the rest of the agency dissipated as the three people whom she actually had wanted to see came into view. She was greeted with the comfortingly familiar sights of Van Pelt on her computer, Rigsby rooting around in the fridge and Cho immersed in a book. It was like she had never left.

Rigsby emerged from the fridge holding a slice of pizza left over from God-only-knew-when and was halfway through transferring it to his mouth, when he caught sight of her. His face broke into a grin.

"Boss! You're back!"

As though they'd both received an electric shock, the heads of the other two snapped up. Van Pelt immediately leapt to her feet and Cho carefully marked his page before getting up too.

"Welcome back, Lisbon!" said Van Pelt, beaming, as she hurried over to her.

"Oh hey boss," Cho greeted her nonchalantly, as though she'd been gone for half an hour rather than a month, but he was smiling too.

Lisbon could practically hear the smart-ass remark about the rarity of such emotion from her senior agent, but of course, it never came. Unable to help herself, she flicked her eyes over to the leather couch across the room. Empty.

No suit jacket draped across the back. No books of Sudoku puzzles piled haphazardly beside it. No blonde curls peeking over the top of the armrest.

No Patrick Jane, leaping eagerly up with an ear-to-ear grin to welcome her back with the rest.

This was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

Sentencing hearings weren't exactly known for being the most joyous of occasions, but the case of Patrick Jane was one of the most dismal affairs that Judge Alana Kandelis had ever presided over.

Firstly, it had been the sheer dejectedness of the man who sat in front of her. He seemed to radiate sadness, casting his gloom over the entire courtroom. She had seen remorseful defendants before, but nothing like this, where his guilt seemed to have taken over his entire being, his misery too deep to be put into words. She'd had to repeat herself several times when he'd failed to answer questions but somehow it hadn't felt right to reprimand him for his inattention. If she'd had to describe it, she'd have said it was less a case of him being unwilling to listen then being simply unable, like he was so consumed by his inner hopelessness that nothing of the outside world seemed able to permeate it.

Secondly, it had been the unusual emptiness of the courtroom; save for the two of them, the ADA prosecuting the case, the bailiff, and the few journalists who had either bribed or tricked their way in. The absence of the rest of the news hounds didn't concern her; they were surely camped out around the courthouse doors, ready to pounce as soon as he emerged.

Alana had heard from a friend in the DA's office that the case had been hushed up by the CBI, and understandably so, as it involved one of their own people nearly suffering an untimely death at the hands of another employee who had then proceeded to murder somebody else. Somehow however, the word had got out (as so often happened in such cases) and she was certain that the media feeding frenzy would be waiting as soon as the defendant left the sanctuary of the courthouse.

But where were the other people usually present at a sentencing? Where were the family, friends, acquaintances, well-wishers and hangers-on? Who would he look to for emotional support as the sentence was handed down? Who would he pull towards him in a farewell embrace, before being lead away in handcuffs?

She knew that Patrick Jane was a widower; his wife and daughter taken from him by the same man he had killed last week, and that he had never remarried, but surely there had to be someone, anyone, in the world who cared about his fate?

But as the proceedings wore on, no such person appeared, and it seemed that he had not expected them to, for he never looked back at the door once, keeping his gaze focused somewhere on the back wall just to the right of the judge's dock.

Alana was not in the business of sympathising with criminals but deep down, she'd felt a tiny bit of pity for Patrick Jane as she handed down her sentence of fifteen years imprisonment, with a possibility of parole in ten. If it were up to her, the term would have been somewhat lighter; the murder victim had been a serial killer after all, and the world would no doubt be better off without him in it, but the law was clear. Murder was murder, regardless of whether people deserved it or not.

She didn't see the tiniest flicker of emotion cross his face as two guards each took him by an arm, and escorted him from the room.

* * *

One step outside, and Jane found himself assaulted by sound as journalists converged upon him like lions on a fresh kill. Questions were shouted at him from all directions and flashes of light from a hundred camera flashbulbs seemed to sear themselves to his retinas.

Keeping his head down and his mouth shut tight, he was guided forcefully to a van that would take him to his new home for the next decade and a half.

Once inside, his thoughts floated inevitably, to Lisbon and how much she hated journalists. 'Vultures' she called them. He remembered what had happened to the last reporter who had caught her on a bad day. He'd heard the man in question had decided the time was ripe for a career change and was now working in a florist downtown.

He remembered the smirk that had graced Lisbon's face when she'd heard about it. "That's the problem with these people," she'd told him afterwards. "They want to be where the fire is, but they just can't take the heat."

Jane had thought to himself that he'd happily swelter through the world's worst heatwave if it meant he got to spend as long as possible in the company of the firecracker that was Teresa Lisbon.

As the van pulled away from the kerb, he felt a strange tugging around his mouth as he thought about that and he realized that for the first time in a week, he had almost smiled.

* * *

Lisbon placed the last framed merit certificate on her office wall, and stepped back to admire the effect. She was pleased she'd refrained from throwing them away with the rest of her work things; having them there made the room feel like it was hers again.

The baseball was back in its place of honour at the front of the desk, the photographs arranged at either side. All was as it should be.

The bullpen was quiet, with it being quite early in the morning, and she walked into the kitchenette to get a cup of coffee, enjoying the silence.

Someone it seemed, had been in a hurry to leave last night as little individual sugar packets littered the table and a copy of yesterday's newspaper lay abandoned next to the coffeemaker.

She reached for a cup, and recoiled as though she had been burned when her fingers brushed the blue cup in which Jane had always taken his tea. She remembered the way he had once said that the right cup made the tea taste better and from then on had steadfastly refused to use any other. Of course she'd dismissed the claim as ridiculous to his face, but sometimes late at night when she was alone in the office, curiosity had made her start to reach for it and try it out, just to see if it were true.

Maybe she should do it now. It wasn't like he'd be coming back to claim it after all.

As her fingers neared the handle, his voice filled her head so loudly he might have been standing right next to her, speaking the words of a conversation they'd had a couple of months ago after she'd tempted fate and consented to make him a cup of tea.

"Perfect," he'd said, after taking a sip. "You my dear, are the goddess of tea."

She snatched her hand away again.

She made a point of not looking at it anymore as she selected another cup, and closed the cupboard doors.

With time to kill before the rest of the team arrived, she tucked the paper under her arm as she returned to the office. Seated back at her desk, she flipped through it, pausing here and there to read an article that caught her interest until her eye was drawn to a small illustration at the bottom of a short piece entitled "Former Psychic Sentenced."

Her heart skipped a beat.

The picture was an artist's impression, obviously legal red tape had prevented the paper from printing a photograph. Whoever the artist was, they had done a pretty good job of capturing his likeness, but she kept thinking there was something slightly off about it. After scrutinizing it for a full minute she saw it.

The eyes. The eyes were wrong. The artist had drawn them brown. This person apparently wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box, to miss something as crucial as this. Jane had blue eyes. Everyone knew that.

_"Everyone, Teresa?"_ piped up a little voice in her head. _"Or just you?"_

She ignored it.

She also hoped the artist had imagined the melancholy air the picture seemed to have about it. She didn't like the idea of Jane sitting alone somewhere looking so sad. She might not have been able to totally forgive him yet, but still, she cared.

To distract herself from her ex-consultant's miserable face, she turned her attention to the article.

"Former television personality Patrick Jane today faced sentencing over several charges including one count of assault, one count of murder…"

She couldn't bring herself to read the rest of the sentence and instead skipped to the end.

"Mr Jane declined to make any statement in his own defence and was subsequently sentenced to 15 years imprisonment with an option for parole in 10 years."

She slammed the newspaper shut. Fifteen years in jail, it might as well have been an eternity. She'd let him take the rap for her and now he was paying for a crime he hadn't committed. It wasn't supposed to end up like this. If she'd done her job properly and arrested Red John years ago, none of this would ever have happened.

Stupid, stubborn Jane. If only he'd _told_ her when this whole mess had begun, they could have worked it out together like they'd done so many times before. He'd be here with her now, instead of in a prison cell.

They could have had something. Something real.

But now all she had was bitter thoughts of what might have been.

* * *

Jane hated to agree with Red John on any count, but he had to admit that on one point the serial killer had been absolutely right. Jail officially sucked.

It wasn't that he was scared for his safety or anything, as his main weapons were his quick wit and mentalist skills, neither of which could be confiscated during a random cell search. What really got him was the boredom.

The same routines all the time, every day like the one before. No variation to break the monotony, just an endless circle of mundane events that made up a day.

He was so bored that so far he'd worked out four possible ways of escaping, which he was ninety percent sure would all work if he'd cared to test them. But what was the point in breaking out? Where would he go?

Some nights he pondered this as he lay on his bed, gripped by insomnia and every time he got the same answer. Lisbon. The only reason to go to the effort of breaking out would be the opportunity to see her again. It had been months now and the uninspiring lifestyle in the prison meant that his brain had nothing to do all day except miss her.

Whoever said that time healed all wounds had been seriously misinformed. Half a year down the track, and it still didn't hurt any less to think of her, to remember her laugh, to lament over everything they might have had if he hadn't been so damn stupid. On occasion, when was in the mood for a little self-torture, he'd go back to the old fantasy of her walking down the aisle in a white dress imagining himself waiting for her at the end, wondering how he had gotten so lucky. He looked into her eyes when she reached him and pulled her close…

And then the dream would dissolve, leaving him feeling even more depressed than before.

Sometimes when he was feeling particularly resentful about it all, he considered throwing caution to the winds and just doing it. What was a few more years on his sentence? It would be worth it just to see her again with his own eyes. Talk to her. Maybe conjure up the guts from somewhere to tell her that he loved her.

But then he reminded himself of how he'd got in this situation in the first place. He was nothing but trouble to her, and the further away he was, the better off she would be.

The next day, he sat in the common area watching a small television bolted to the wall accompanied by Rick, his cellmate. The news had just started a report about a body found in a back alley in Sacramento. Foul play was suspected. It was just a run-of-the-mill report until Jane caught the word 'CBI.'

Jane smiled as the flat, monotone voice of Cho echoed around the room.

"We have no solid leads at this stage," he was saying calmly. In the background Jane could just make out Rigsby's hulking figure and Van Pelt's vibrant red hair. He leaned forward in his seat eagerly. If the rest of the team were there that must mean…

He waited and hoped, and after a few seconds he saw a small figure stride into the frame, bellowing to Cho that they were leaving soon and to hurry up. His heart leapt. He'd know that impatient bark anywhere.

His face broke into a grin as the camera cut to another scene, and there she was. It wasn't as good as seeing her in person, but it was the next best thing. The shot was of Lisbon being interviewed and looking as she always did, extremely annoyed that someone had shoved a microphone into her face when she was working. She was smiling, but it was very forced, and the irritation in her eyes was evident. He could also see the line between her eyebrows deepening with every passing second. Or perhaps these things were only obvious to him because he knew her so well.

He thought he knew what was bothering her. She had obviously not expected there to be media at the crime scene and he could see she hadn't bothered to redo her makeup and hair before they'd left headquarters.

It wasn't that she cared how she looked while working, but she thought that as team leader she should be setting a good image for the agency.

He personally had always thought her fears were groundless. In his eyes, she was beautiful all the time, without the slightest bit of effort. He wished he'd had some opportunity to tell her so.

He chuckled as she crossly waved the microphone away and stalked back off to rejoin the others. The camera followed her.

"That's one fine specimen of woman right there," observed Rick. "I don't do cops, as a rule, but I'd be willing to make an exception for that one. Bet she's a wildcat in bed, she looks like the type."

"Shut up!" Jane snapped.

"What's it to you? She your girl or something?" asked Rick, pointing up at the screen.

"Sort of," said Jane, truthfully.

"What do you mean 'sort of?' She either is or she isn't."

"Well that's the woman I love," said Jane, and heaved a deep sigh. "But she was never mine."

"Huh," said Rick, thoughtfully. "That's rough. But you know, it'll probably make it easier in the long run."

"What makes you say that?"

"First time I was in lock-up, I had this girl Nancy. Not a whole lot going on upstairs but she had a slammin' body so I could overlook that." He grinned. "Anyway, for the first few months she was calling all the time, dropping by for the odd conjugal visit every now and then…we had some wild times," he added reminiscently. "But then after a while she just stopped calling, stopped visiting and when I saw her after I got out, she was married with a kid on the way."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Jane.

Rick shrugged. "No big deal. She was a good lay, but that was about it. Anyway, the point is that while we're all stuck in this soul-sucking hellhole, outside time still goes on. Life doesn't stop for them just coz their boyfriend's in the clink. They go out, they meet other people and in the end they all decide you're not worth the trouble."

"Thanks a lot for that," said Jane, bleakly.

"Hey, that's the reality, man. No point sugar coating it. Once a felon always a felon. Even when you've paid your debt to society, the world never lets you forget you're an ex-con. You keep paying for it for the rest of your life. That's why so many reoffend, it's almost restful to get away from it all."

"Is that how you ended back up in here?"

"Nah," Rick chuckled. "Turned out the jewellery shop owner I tried to jack was an ex-marine. Had me in a headlock before I could even draw my gun. How's that for bad luck, eh? Anyway," he said, jabbing a finger towards the TV again. "You should be glad you and your cop lady never got it off the ground. Can't miss what you've never had."

Jane begged to differ. And he also thought there was quite a distinct difference between the loss of a casual sex partner and a soulmate. There'd always be some other pretty girl for Rick to sleep with, but it wasn't every day you found the love of your life, and if you ever were lucky enough to find her, you were supposed to hang on tight.

Well, he'd found her all right, however reluctant he may have been to admit it in the earlier stages. But he'd messed up the next part. He hadn't held onto her with everything he had.

And he'd let her slip away.

* * *

Lisbon closed the manila folder with a deep sigh. Though the quantity of paperwork had dropped dramatically since Jane had left, having less of the stuff didn't make it any less tedious.

She still thought about him often, as though some essence of him was still around, hanging over every cup of coffee or slice of case-closed pizza. She didn't dare mention this to the rest of the team who were all still quite happily hating the sheer memory of him, and never brought him up unless it was to abuse him or comment gleefully at how unpleasant life must be for him now in prison.

She wished that she could hate him too. She'd tried. God how she'd tried. Going over every wrong he'd ever done her in her head. Seeing the malice in his eyes as he'd run at her with a knife, but nothing worked.

What did he have to do to her to make her stop caring, short of killing her outright? It wasn't fair.

She partly resented the others for having it so easy. None of them had ever seen that under all that rage and twisted sense of justice, there'd been another side of Patrick Jane, one that she only ever had brief glimpses of.

Like the time when she thought they were dying and she'd asked if there was anyone he wanted to call and the only person he nominated had been herself.

Or the time when he danced with her at the high school reunion to her old favourite song and let her pretend he was "that mean cold-hearted guy you used to worship from afar but never talked to." (She'd sworn she'd never tell him so, but when he took her into his arms, that other guy was the furthest thing from her mind.)

Or the time he had told her that he needed her to know that she could trust him, and that no matter what happened, he would be there for her.

Or the time only weeks ago, when he had cradled her in his arms at his old family home and had made her feel safe, despite the peril they were both in.

Those fleeting flashes of human emotion had been enough to stop her from being able to move on, and it made her so angry she wanted to scream.

He'd done it on purpose, she thought savagely to herself. It was a slick new method of torture, designed especially for her, so that she'd never be able to truly let him go.

She couldn't give him up as a lost cause, not when she knew that sweet, caring side was there, buried deep within. And she'd been the only one he'd ever allowed to see it. She had once seen it as a compliment to be privy to the delicate mental state of Patrick Jane, but now it was nothing but a burden.

Things would have been so much easier if he really was the jerk he'd made himself out to be. She could be right now basking in the blissful state of indifference that her team were currently enjoying. There wouldn't be the tiny little voice inside her head whispering 'what if?'

Even though he was nowhere near her, he was still messing with her head. And she _still_ couldn't hate him for it. Bastard.

* * *

Twenty-three hours a day in a small cell would be enough to drive anyone stir-crazy, and all the prisoners had to come up with their own means of entertainment to keep themselves from going insane.

Jane wrote letters.

Strictly speaking, pens were considered contraband, due to the possibility of them being used as a weapon, but Jane had managed to sweet-talk the night guard into giving him one, as well as a fresh pad of paper, each week. He'd just had to tell a heart-wringing tale of being separated from his love, and how if he wasn't able to write to her, he didn't know how he was going to cope.

It was easier to make it convincing because the story was completely, 100% true, he just neglected to mention the part where he didn't send them.

And so he wrote letters. He wrote to his wife, to his daughter (for both of these, he tore the paper up again as soon as he had finished.) He wrote to the team sometimes, he occasionally even wrote to Red John (the ideal scapegoat for his suppressed inner fury) but most of the time, he wrote letters to Lisbon.

Some comprised only a couple of paragraphs, others went on for pages and pages, so long that he'd have to use both sides of the pieces of paper just to get it all down.

Each time, he addressed it differently.

_"Lisbon…"_

_"My dear Lisbon…"_

_"Dearest Teresa…."_

_"To the world's moodiest CBI agent…"_

But every letter ended in the exact same way, with the three words he hadn't ever been able to say, held back by fear. Fear for her safety, fear of losing her friendship, fear of being rejected, fear of having the woman he loved tell him that he just wasn't good enough. Which was true. Nobody was good enough for her as far as he was concerned, least of all himself, but unfortunately he wasn't able to switch off his feelings that easily.

So he kept writing to her, with each attempt hoping this time the words would come out right, but even when he got it perfect, he knew he'd never send it.

He might love her more than life itself, but he sure as hell didn't deserve her.

* * *

As more months passed, gradually Lisbon tried to purge Patrick Jane from her life. The most obvious reminder was the brown leather couch in the office, so that had been the first thing to go. She hadn't told the team she was doing it, just waited until they'd all gone home then had it packed up and taken away. She didn't care where it went, she just couldn't handle having it in her office anymore as a silent monument to Patrick Jane.

When the other three had arrived the next day, they'd all done a double take when they noticed the now-clear spot on the office floor and flicked curious glances over at Lisbon, inviting her to explain if she so desired, but didn't ask any questions.

The next thing she'd done was 'accidentally' knock his blue cup from the shelf and sent it hurtling to the floor. The saucer had gone the same way.

Getting rid of the physical reminders was easy. Getting rid of the memories was not. The best she could do when she caught herself thinking of him, was to force her mind onto something else.

After a while, she was able to go for several hours without him crossing her mind once, and when he did, rather than the pang she used to feel, there was only a slight twinge.

She figured that was as good as it was going to get. But then, life threw her another curveball. She met Shane.

* * *

_July 1st 2011_

_Lisbon,_

_I haven't seen you for over a year. My last memory of you is in that hospital room, looking so pale and exhausted. I see you and the team on the TV sometimes. You should really try and get Cho to look a little less intimidating though, it scares the crap out of the reporters who interview him._

_I noticed in that report that you've stopped straightening your hair. I always liked it best when it had curls in it; it softens your face a little and it makes you look younger, and so beautiful. Even more so than usual._

_I hope you're happy, and even though the very thought makes me want to punch something, I hope you've found someone who'll take care of you the way you deserve, just like I would've if I'd ever got the chance._

_I love you,_

_Patrick._

_

* * *

_

Shane Weston was cute, smart, funny, caring, successful and a great lover. He ticked all the boxes on Lisbon's 'potential husband' checklist. He was exactly the kind of man she had always seen herself being with. The team thought he was great, her brothers and their families adored him. Everyone told her how lucky she was to have found someone so wonderful. It seemed that everyone was happy, except for her. It wasn't that she didn't love him, she would always be grateful to him for bringing her back into the world again, it was that Jane was always lurking in the back of her mind. They'd never had a chance to get this far. Maybe they could have been great as a couple. Maybe they could have had a life together.

And therein lay the root of her problem. Maybe. As long as there were 'maybes' she couldn't give her whole heart to Shane. Part of it would always belong to someone else.

* * *

_December 15th 2013_

_My dear Lisbon,_

_It's cold today. We're all shivering in our cells because once again, the heating's out and the warden just thinks 'hey, who cares about the convicts, let them freeze to death."_

_Do you remember that night the heating went out at the CBI? It was just you and me, everyone else had gone home for the night and you were shivering so much that you couldn't even hold your pen steady to write your signature._

_I offered you my jacket but you wouldn't take it, like the pigheaded, impossible woman you are. And then I thought about how I would much rather reach over and hold you instead, but I knew that if I even attempted it, I'd be flat on the floor in the blink of an eye._

_I never had a girlfriend who could kick my ass, but I would've put up with the humiliation of it all quite happily if it meant I got to be with you. I would've done anything to have the right to say you were mine. Still would._

_As long as I live, I'll never forgive myself for betraying you the way I did. I miss you every day, but I know you're somewhere out there (probably hunched over your computer in your office, biting your lip the way you do when you're trying to figure something out.) and I know your life is probably a hundred times better now that I'm not in it._

_For the record, my life without you in it is a million times worse._

_I love you,_

_Patrick._

* * *

After almost two years together, Shane proposed. Lisbon had been expecting it, he'd been edgy all week and he wasn't the greatest at keeping things to himself. That was one of the many differences between him and Jane, with Shane, there were no surprises. This was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, it meant no angry phone calls from witnesses or her boss, or awkward surprise birthday parties, which she'd always hated, even as a child. But it also meant no spontaneity, no dropping everything for a romantic weekend away, and no little presents just because he felt like it. It was like dating the male version of herself.

So she'd had plenty of time to prepare for what she was going to say.

Her father hadn't been the best of men, but one particular piece of advice he'd given her one day had stuck with her for her whole life. They'd been sitting at the kitchen table, he was between benders at that point, and almost totally coherent when he spoke to her.

"Tessie," he'd said to her. "I know that I'm no saint, but if you remember only one thing I ever tell you, make sure it's this. Never do anything if you can think of one good reason why you shouldn't."

So when she'd guessed the cause of her boyfriend's odd behaviour, Lisbon made sure to go home at a decent hour, opened a bottle of wine, and she thought.

One good reason. One totally logical, viable reason to turn down a man who loved her.

Shane was a good man. He cared about her, he made her laugh when she was sad and when she'd opened to up to him about her childhood one night (under the influence of too much tequila) he hadn't gone running scared like she'd thought he would.

But when he looked into her eyes, she didn't fall into a blissful oblivion. He didn't make the heat rise in her cheeks when he smiled at her. He didn't make her shiver when he touched her. Simply put, he wasn't Patrick Jane.

There was no getting around the fact that somewhere deep inside, she would always hold a candle for Patrick Jane. He'd always be a regret, the one that got away.

But she couldn't keep going on like this. Hanging onto the past, longing for a man she hadn't even seen in years, who had betrayed her in every possible way. She hadn't even told Shane about him, wanting to keep that part of her past to herself. She knew it wasn't fair to keep him in the dark about something so important, but she just couldn't bear even the thought of telling him.

The truth of the matter was this: She loved Shane. And despite all he had done to her, she loved Patrick Jane too.

One didn't marry someone when one was in love in with someone else. She had her reason. But was it a good reason? Should she really throw away the man who was willing to give her a home, and a family, on the account of another man who was so wounded and broken that she wasn't entirely sure if he would be the same person when he got out of prison, or if he even felt what she felt?

When Shane got down on one knee in the middle of a crowded resteraunt, and pulled a diamond ring out of his pocket, Lisbon hesitated for only a moment before nodding her acceptance and kissing him in front of the applauding patrons.

And so she was engaged, because there was no good reason that she shouldn't.

* * *

_March 24th 2014_

_Dearest Teresa,_

_You don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you? We've known each other long enough now._

_My cellmate got released today, and I never realized before that there was something in this place that was worse than boredom. Loneliness._

_Sure, Rick was a little rough around the edges (you would've hated him) but he was company after all. We didn't even have to talk really, it was enough just to know that someone else was there, sharing the burden._

_I'm so sick of being lonely. I was lonely after I lost my family. I shut everyone out who ever tried to help me, because I couldn't stand having anyone else's blood on my hands._

_Then you came along, and suddenly I wasn't lonely anymore. There was a reason for me to get up in the morning. You brought me back to life when I was practically just a zombie, roaming around aimlessly through every day, waiting for the one when I found Red John again._

_I never knew just how miserable I was until I met you._

_It's been so long now, and still it hurts to think of you, but still I do it. Am I a masochist? I don't think so. I think I do it because the pain lets me know I'm still alive. It's hard to tell sometimes._

_I saw Rigsby and Van Pelt's wedding announcement in the paper last week (I stole it off a guard.) Tell them congratulations from me. I always knew they'd find their way, eventually. They just needed a little push. (Well, a big push really, if Rigsby had been any slower about it, he would've been going backwards.)_

_I remember making him pay me a dollar so I could teach him about seduction. I don't even know what I told him now, but one thing I do know with absolute certainty is that it wouldn't have been enough to win your heart. You would've seen right through me. I could get minor stuff by you, but something as important as that, you would've called my bluff in an instant._

_I love you,_

_Patrick._

* * *

Teresa Lisbon's wedding to Shane Weston was quite a small affair. Neither of them were the kind of people who liked a lot of fuss. Everyone remarked that she must be the most easygoing bride in history as she happily handed over all the planning to Van Pelt, her maid of honour.

She'd made only one request. When choosing the song for their first dance, Shane had suggested one that had long been a favourite of hers, and she had told him no.

She couldn't have 'More Than Words' played at her wedding to Shane when it was a song she associated with someone else. She couldn't have that one song become a part of _two_ significant moments in her life. Also, she didn't want to taint the memory of that dance she 'd shared with Jane. She had so few good recollections of their time together that the loss of even one was practically catastrophic.

Shane, being the kind of guy he was, didn't even ask her why she was so against the idea and just suggested something else. He didn't poke and prod at her to try and get the truth. He just accepted her at her word. No probing around for some underlying cause.

She loved him for that.

* * *

_August 7th 2018_

_My darling Teresa,_

_Saw you on the TV again today. Promoted to Hightower's old job. I'm so proud of you. I can't think of anyone else better._

_I also noticed the ring on your finger and I'll admit I wasn't quite prepared for that. I guess a part of me still hoped that you would wait for me, but the bigger part of me is really glad that you didn't._

_I'd really like to meet this husband of yours. I'm sure he's a great guy, you always had excellent judgement in these matters. Hopefully he knows how good he's got it and never takes you for granted._

_I hope that when he looks at you, he sees you the way I do. To me, you're still as beautiful as you were the day I first laid eyes on you. All these years later, and you still take my breath away._

_I love you,_

_Patrick._

* * *

The phone on the desk rang, shattering her concentration. She glared at it in annoyance, she needed to concentrate on this press release. She'd never appreciated how hard this job was until she'd had to do it herself.

"Hello?" she answered, briskly.

"Hello," said a gruff man's voice. "Is this Agent Teresa Lisbon?"

"Speaking."

Despite being married to Shane for almost five years now, Lisbon had decided to keep her maiden name for work purposes. It made everything less confusing.

"This is Keith Hudson from the California State Correctional Facility."

"What can I do for you, Mr Hudson?"

"We have you listed as the next of kin for an inmate named Patrick Jane."

She dropped the phone in shock, and had to hasten to pick it up again.

"What?"

"He had you down as emergency contact. You didn't know?"

"No. Why? What's happened? Is he all right?" asked Lisbon, imagining what terrible thing might have occurred for them to call her like this. Had he been beaten up, or shanked, or God forbid, killed?

"Everything's fine," said Hudson, impatiently. "In fact, he was paroled yesterday."

Relief washed over her.

"Oh thank God," she said. "But if nothing's wrong, why are you calling me?"

"Well, when he left yesterday Mr Jane left behind several personal effects. So far we've had no luck trying to track him down." That didn't surprise Lisbon in the slightest. They had no chance of finding Jane if he didn't want to be found. "We were wondering if you could come down and take them off our hands," continued Hudson. "We're tight on space right now and if you don't take 'em, they'll be incinerated."

It was almost the end of the day. She'd been looking forward to getting home and having a hot bath and an early night. Shane was going to a work function and wouldn't be home until late and she was overdue for a little 'me' time. But curiosity overtook her. What exactly had Jane left behind?

"Okay," she said into the phone. "I'll be there around six."

* * *

The badly-shaven guard behind the desk pressed a shoebox into Lisbon's hands. "Here's all his stuff," he grunted.

"That's it?" Lisbon asked, looking dubiously at it.

The guard shrugged.

"He was a strange guy. Model prisoner, never caused any trouble or nothin' but all introverted you know. Barely spoke two words to anyone the whole time he was here."

Back in her car, Lisbon lifted the lid on the shoebox. There were precious few items inside. There was a brown leather belt, his old cell phone, his car keys, and a single sheet of paper.

She picked it up and turned it over.

* * *

_May 18th 2020,_

_To my Teresa,_

_You wouldn't believe how many times I've rewritten this letter over the years, but I think I've finally figured it out._

_I love you._

_Always have. Always will._

_Patrick._

* * *

**Just for clarification purposes, in case I didn't make it clear, Jane never sent Lisbon any of those letters. **

**So there you have it folks! I'm sorry I couldn't give them a real reconciliation, but I just didn't think it would fit in with the story, and besides it's dark and windy outside, perfect weather for writing angst. I hope you like what I came up with. I'm pretty happy with it!**

**Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and stuck with this story despite the slow updates, I've appreciated all your feedback and even though this story is done and dusted I've still got "Dual Deception" on the go, if anyone's interested.**

**Thank you, and good night.**


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